Matter of Perspective
by skyjadeprincess
Summary: Tony DiNozzo has a fan, who is willing to express his admiration in any way *possible*.
1. Chapter 1

"And I say, hey hey hey hey I said hey, what's going on?"

I know my voice was off key, but I didn't give a shit.

Ah, 4 non blondes. They were such a highly underrated group.  
It's too bad they only had one hit. "What's up" was one of my favorite songs. If nothing else, it helped me pass the time. I nodded my head to the music, tapping my steering wheel in rhythm. It was already dark.

Since I was heading deep into the countryside, no one else was around. There were no streetlights. I haven't seen another car for hours.

Which was fine by me.

The less witnesses, the better.

"...I pray every single day For a revolution!..." Linda Perry was singing.

The roads were a little slippery, but my SUV could handle it.

I frowned a little when the song ended. But that didn't bother me.  
I casually pressed the rewind button so I could start the song all over again.

Sadly, before I could get a good rhythm going, my destination loomed into view. I let out a sad sigh as I parked in front of the log-style cabin. "Until next time, Linda Perry. Until next time." I muttered as I got out of the SUV.

I unlocked one of the back doors and grabbed several plastic bags.

I whistled my favorite TV theme song as I pressed the fob to lock all the doors. Ah, Andy Griffith. Definitely an underrated actor. I made a mental note to tape the marathon that was running on TV Land all weekend. I loved that show.

When they stopped filming, it really pissed me off.

I swung my shopping bags, feeling like a kid in a candy store.

I all but skipped to the front door. Making sure no one was watching,  
I carefully unlocked the front door and headed inside. I quickly locked the door after me. It was cold inside, but that didn't bother me. The cold never did.

The cold and I have always been kindred spirits.

One of very few that I regarded as an equal.

I turned on the lights. I entered the kitchen and pulled my favorite wine out of the fridge. I poured myself a glass and returned to the living room.

Carefully, I threw open the persian carpet.

Revealing a carefully hidden trap door.

It was a bit of a balancing act, juggling my bags and my wineglass as I carefully descended the stairs into the basement. But I managed it with practiced ease as I've done this plenty of times before. The entire basement was soundproof.

I couldn't take the chance of people hearing things they shouldn't.

I headed towards a wall and removed a bland painting of flowers.

Revealing a keypad.

I quickly punched in a bunch of numbers.

A panel slid aside, revealing a room that was barely bigger than a storage unit. If I was claustrophobic, it would drive me crazy. I was still whistling as I entered the room, the panel sliding shut behind me. I gazed with clinical detachment towards the corner. He was barely conscious, his hands tied over his head.

His bonds were attached to a chain which was attached to the ceiling.

His ankles were secured by chains that were used on convicts.

I made sure he was gagged. There was no sense in letting the little shit scream for help after all. One of his eyes were swollen shut. There was a bruise the size of a walnut on his forehead. One of his shoulders had been dislocated.

My keen eye could make out several fractures in his left leg.

He was covered in welts and bruises.

I still whistled as I placed the plastic bags onto a nearby table. He watched me with wary eyes, not unlike a cornered animal would a predator. I gave him a sneer. He was so weak. So pathetic in every sense of the word. I hated that I had to waste my precious time on someone that barely rated above an insect.

But it was the only way to get my message across.

While I wished I could kill him, I needed him alive.

For now.

The fact that I could eventually squash him like an insect was my only bright side. I repeated this mantra several times in my head as I reached into a plastic bag.

It was a Polaroid camera.

Shame these went out of style.

You know, it was one of those old-fashioned cameras where you took a picture and it came out of the camera like paper from a printer. You wave the photo a few times to clear it up and you eventually get a clear picture. I love these cameras.

Made things so much easier.

I carefully put down my wineglass and got my camera ready.

"Okay, Tiny Tim!" I said cheerfully. "Say cheese!"


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I'm revising the story, since I didn't like the direction it was going in.

Trent Kort grunted as he hit the the floor, clutching his bloodied nose.

This was the result of a vicious right hook courtesy of an enraged Tony DiNozzo.

DiNozzo would've gone for another blow, if he wasn't (barely) being held back by Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Tobias Fornell. Ron Sacks had to step in to hold the enraged senior agent in place. DiNozzo snarled as he struggled against them.

"Let me at him, Boss!" DiNozzo yelled. "I haven't finished teaching the bastard a lesson yet!" DiNozzo was too pissed to maintain his usual cocky facade.

It'd been a struggle to control his temper.

Kort's little comment broke his control and sent him over the edge.

DiNozzo was a ticking time bomb ever since they returned from vacation.  
Leon Vance, director of NCIS, gave Team Gibbs a week's vacation after they spent nearly a month working back to back cases. The whole thing was almost funny, really.

DiNozzo had a good time in Cabo St. Lucas.

Their first day back was supposed to be easy.

They were supposed to be working on cold cases and Balboa's team was going to be on the roster. Today was supposed to be relaxing and, well, practically boring.

All of that changed when DiNozzo retrieved his mail from the post office.

Kort slowly got to his feet, glaring at DiNozzo as he got a tissue from his pocket and pressed it to his nose. Normally, he would utter another smart-ass comment.

But something told him not to push his luck.

Snorting in disgust-wincing as that hurt his nose-Kort went to the men's room.

Gibbs tersely ordered his agent to take a few minutes outside to cool off.  
DiNozzo nodded and stormed out of the bullpen, clenching and unclenching his fists.

While he regretted losing his cool, he couldn't bring himself to mourn Kort's predicament. DiNozzo emerged outside ten minutes later, not even feeling the cold.

He was too angry and distracted to care.

He paced back and forth like an angry tiger in a cage.

It all started this morning, after he got his mail and returned to his apartment. On the way home, DiNozzo fiddled with the radio dial, trying to find a song he liked. For some reason, he felt an eerie tingle go up and down his spine when he heard "What's up" from the group, 4 Non Blondes on some oldies station he couldn't recall.

DiNozzo made it back to his apartment building without fanfare.

A few minutes later, he was in his living room, sorting through his mail.

There were the usual bills and magazines he subscribed to. Then he spotted a manila envelope, with only his address written across its face. While DiNozzo didn't have his boss's infamous "gut", he wasn't stupid either. He carefully put the envelope down. He contacted his boss, who was thankfully back from his trip to Mexico.

Gibbs told him to carefully bag the evidence and head for NCIS.

Gibbs quickly contacted Ellie Bishop, a member of their team. He'd tried to contact the other member of their team, but for some reason, he wasn't answering his phone. Gibbs felt the churning in his gut increase. He had a bad feeling about this.

As usual, he would be right.

As for Ellie, she was thankfully back from her trip to London. Gibbs drove to NCIS headquarters even beyond his usual reckless speeds. It was only due to a miracle that he didn't cause an accident or get pulled over for a ticket. He didn't care.

His gut continued to churn.

He couldn't shake the feeling that his missing agent was in danger.

Gibbs quickly updated Vance.

Meanwhile, the envelope and its contents were carefully examined by Abby Sciuto, their forensic scientist. Gibbs was just finishing his explanations to Vance when he was phoned by a tearful, hysterical Abby. He couldn't get her to calm down.

Gibbs had to see her in person in her lab.

Abby couldn't calm down enough to explain.

She just gave a series of hiccupping sobs before she pointed at the contents of the manila envelope with a shaking hand. Somehow, Gibbs wasn't surprised at what the envelope contained. Grimly, Gibbs phoned DiNozzo and told him to come to the lab.

The group was soon joined by Tobias Fornell and Ron Sacks.

Both were FBI agents.

Vance contacted them. In the case of a kidnapped federal agent, the FBI had jurisdiction. DiNozzo was especially pissed off. Admittedly, he had good reason to be.

Since everything was specifically addressed to him.

The letter had been disturbing enough.

It wasn't handwritten or typed. Instead, the sender carefully cut out letters from newspapers and glued them to a white piece of paper. There was no signature.

The letter simply read, "Merry Christmas, Tony".

The envelope also contained photographs.

Disturbing photographs.

Photos which made Tony want to punch a wall.

The photos featured Timothy McGee, the last member of Team Gibbs. He was the computer expert of their group. In what seemed like a progression, the injuries he suffered got worse as they went from photo to photo. Abby was working with Ruby Denton, the FBI's forensic scientist, to carefully examine the letter, photos and envelope. Fornell already sent a couple of agents to investigate McGee's apartment.

There had been nothing.

The evidence suggested McGee never made it home after their shift ended more than a week ago.

His apartment was covered in a layer of dust. None of his clothes and toiletries were missing and his luggage was still in his closet. The implications were obvious:

He'd been abducted elsewhere.

His phone rang, jolting him from his reverie.

"DiNozzo."

"DiNozzo, get back upstairs." Gibbs said gruffly. "A pair of LEOs found McGee's car at a Burger King near Dulles International Airport. Fornell and Sacks will meet us there."

"I'll be there, Boss." DiNozzo promised.

DiNozzo jogged back inside and joined his boss in the bullpen.

On the way to the Burger King, DiNozzo remained lost in thought. Kort was an asshole with a dubious reputation who worked for the CIA. He wasn't at NCIS because of McGee's kidnapping. His presence was a coincidence as the CIA sent him to NCIS to work as a liaison on another case. Unfortunately, Kort had heard more than he should.

And let's just say he wasn't complimentary towards Gibbs' "baby agent".

DiNozzo was already pissed off over what was happening to McGee.

Needless to say, Kort picked the wrong moment to make disparaging remarks about DiNozzo's partner. DiNozzo smirked in grim satisfaction. He hoped Kort's new shiner would *convince* him not to be so *rude* in the future. He had to admit, the punch felt *good*.

DiNozzo was jolted from his reverie when Gibbs' Charger pulled to a stop.

They were at the Burger King. Hopefully, they would find something.

DiNozzo's internal clock warned him that time was running out.

* * *

I was in a bad mood as I drove back to the cabin.

It was just like Tiny Tim to ruin everything.

Fortunately, I brought a handy-dandy "stress reliever" in my duffle bag. While I try not to let my baser emotions get the better of me, there are times, however few that I succumb to _weakness_.

The only bright side is that I'm doing this without witnesses.

With the exception, of course, of Tiny Tim.

Not even my favorite song could calm me down. Which was yet another thing to blame the little shithead for.

It was just like him to be so _incompetent_.

So...ineffectual.

Finally, the cabin loomed into view. I parked, grabbed my duffle bag and exited the SUV. I pressed the fob to lock the doors and jogged to the front door. As always, I carefully peeked over my shoulder, making sure no one was looking as I unlocked it.

Once it was open, I quickly darted inside.

I locked the door after me.

By now, Tiny Tim should still be unconscious. I'd drugged his food and moved him while he was asleep. I glanced at my watch. I had about a half hour before he woke up.

Which gave me plenty of time to get things ready.

I kicked aside the persian carpet and jerked open the trapdoor.

I headed downstairs, removed the flower picture and inputted a new number in the keypad. Unlike other people, I am a genius. I always make sure to change the combination.

The panel slid aside and I quickly hurried in.

Sure enough, Tiny Tim was unconscious.

He was hanging from the ceiling. He was bound in a pair of manacles that were attached to a chain, which in turn, was secured to the ceiling. His ankles were equally bound. I wanted to limit his movements so he couldn't kick me.

I put the duffle bag on the table and opened it.

I pulled out some grey sweats and some other objects.

The boombox was resting on a TV tray in another corner. I'm a firm believer in using stuff from the good ol' days.

I have no liking or patience for the digital shit hitting the markets nowadays.

I changed after neatly folding my clothing and setting the articles aside, so they wouldn't get stained.

I glanced at Tiny Tim.

He was starting to stir.

I headed for the boombox and put a tape inside. This song always helped me "get in the zone", so to speak.

Tiny Tim grew more and more awake as the effects of the drug wore off.

I walked to the first table and grabbed a pair of boxing gloves.

By now, Tiny Tim was fully awake and I relished in the dawning horror in his eyes. He reminded me of a weak little deer, standing stark still as a pair of headlights washed over it.

Or a lost little newborn lamb, stumbling in the darkness.

I returned to the boombox and pressed the play button. The song was "Gonna Fly Now" from the movie, "Rocky".

I put on the boxing gloves and got to work.

I couldn't help myself.

I felt like a kid in a candy store as I let loose. Tiny Tim's gag has long since been removed since I wanted to hear him scream.

And scream he did.

Man, what a pussy.

He screamed and screamed like a stuck pig as I wailed on him. I relished in each punch and kick I gave him. Tears poured like rivers down his cheeks.

I could hear sickening snaps fill the air as I punched his stomach.

I knew some of his ribs were broken.

While the song was short, it was also on a loop. So Tiny Tim was out of luck as I continued to "relieve my frustrations", so to speak.

I repeatedly kicked his left leg.

Grinning sadistically as I "gifted" him with more fractures.

I really felt like Rocky Balboa. I pictured myself in the ring, going against the likes of Apollo Creed.

The only downside was that Tiny Tim didn't deserve the honor of being Apollo Creed. He was too weak to get such an appellation.

I galloped around him until I could see his back.

His screams increased in volume as I wailed on him good in and around his spine.

He began to beg for me to stop. But I was fresh out of mercy as I continued to jab and kick. Not that I had any mercy to begin with.

Mercy was reserved for weaklings.

Finally, I was spent.

I walked to the table and grabbed a towel. I wiped the sweat from my face and opened a water bottle. As I sipped, I glanced at Tiny Tim.

He was a hanging mass of bruises, welts and fractures.

I grabbed my Polaroid and took several shots for good measure.

There was no sense in wasting an opportunity and I know HE would want more pictures. I hope he liked the ones I sent him.

It *was* the Christmas season after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The bastard left him dangling.

Tim could still hear the sadistic laughter filling the air until he was finally left alone.

He hurt.

Oh God, did he hurt.

His entire body felt like one big, massive bruise. Tim knew his left leg was a mess. It hurt to breathe. Everytime he inhaled, pain would shoot from his fractured ribs.

And God only knew what his back looked like.

However, everytime he moved, pain would go up and down his spine.

Tim never really hated anyone before. He didn't believe in hatred. Unlike his cynical boss and teammates, he didn't think revenge was the answer.

He was a firm believer in the system, even after all he'd witnessed in his years of being a federal agent.

Not that Gibbs let him do much out in the field.

Tim was far used to handling the technological side of things at his desk.

Or in helping Abby in her lab.

In any event, Tim never hated anyone.

In his defense, he never had cause to despise a person to that degree. He knew he was far less experienced than his colleagues.

Nothing really happened to him...for the most part. No, no, NO! No thinking of THAT again. Ahem, he took a deep, calming breath and mentally moved on.

That changed when he was kidnapped after he left NCIS to pack for his vacation.

He was going to Los Angeles to attend a writer's convention. He wrote crime novels under the pseudonym, Thom E. Gemcity.

Truth be told, Tim felt ashamed.

It shouldn't have been so easy for that asshole to get the drop on him.

Gibbs would definitely be disappointed in him. DiNozzo would tease him goodnaturedly, crowing that the "probie" needed to be more vigilant. Of course, Tim knew that DiNozzo didn't mean anything with his taunts and playful nicknames.

They were DiNozzo's way of displaying his affection for his surrogate younger brother.

Tim had parked his car at his apartment building.

He was heading for the front entrance when he was grabbed from behind.

Unfortunately, there were no witnesses and this was taking place where the surveillance cameras couldn't pick up anything.

He was dragged to a nearby alleyway.

He kicked and struggled, but to no avail.

Then his assailant pressed a gag over his mouth and nose. Tim could smell the chloroform and tried not to inhale.

He failed.

The next thing he knew, he was losing consciousness.

When he came to, he was sitting in the corner of a cold room. It was tiny and cramped. His arms were secured over his head and his feet were bound as well.

He'd also been gagged.

He was only wearing his boxers.

Tim didn't know how much time passed in that room. But for him, it might as well have been years instead of days.

He'd never experienced such hellish pain and torture before.

Not even when Saleem kicked the shit out of him in Somalia.

Everytime his kidnapper came back, he was brutally beaten. And his injuries were so "lovingly" documented, thanks to those thrice-damned Polaroids.

As if the asshole wanted to make a photo album or something.

At first, Tim held out hope that he would be rescued.

Gibbs came through for his team so many times when they were in trouble. The former Marine was like a dog with a bone whenever a member of his team stumbled into danger.

His hope made it easier for him to withstand the cruel taunts and insults.

However, as time passed and nothing happened, the hope began to fade.

Tim had to keep on reminding himself that his teammates were on vacation. That they didn't know something happened to him.

However, it was hard to keep up that reasoning.

He began to believe otherwise.

After all, there were times that Gibbs sensed DiNozzo, Abby and Ziva David-back when she was a member of the team-were in trouble. His boss had that infamous "gut" after all.

And would react accordingly.

So why wasn't his boss reacting to his "gut" as far as HE was concerned?

Then again, a growing, cynical voice in his mind would state, Gibbs has shown an appalling lack of concern for his wellbeing before.

Like when he wouldn't send him to the hospital after Jethro the dog bit him.

Or when he was sent into redtagged water to fetch a clue.

Tim's well of optimism began to dry up like water in the Sahara desert. Why wasn't anyone coming to rescue him?

Didn't he matter?

Wasn't he a member of Gibbs' team as well?

Tim couldn't help growing angry and bitter as time passed. He was starting to believe that he was on his own.

That no one gave a shit about him.

While the rational part of his mind tried to remind him that his team couldn't possibly know he was in danger thanks to their leave, the other part was telling his rational side to take a flying leap off the nearest cliff.

Who could keep their reason and logic going, when one was being beaten and tortured?

It just didn't work that way.

Tim was discovering new sides of himself.

He wasn't yet at the stage where he hated his team. They'd been through too much together for that.

However, he DID despise his kidnapper.

He hated the bastard with a passion.

To keep himself going, Tim would imagine different scenarios in which he would kill the son of a bitch. It wasn't healthy, he knew.

But those increasingly sadistic fantasies gave him the strength to keep going.

And kept other horrific memories at bay.

Now was not the time to think about THAT. It was difficult. Tim wasn't stupid. He could see the contempt in his kidnapper's eyes.

Those eyes that dismissed him as pathetic and weak.

Just like THAT man...

No, no, Tim! Stop it! He sternly ordered himself. He refused to go on _that_ particular trip down memory lane.

He had to focus on getting the hell out of here.

And he would.

This wouldn't bring him down. Tim has been underestimated his entire life and he has proved his naysayers wrong.

His kidnapper would rue the day they were born.

He swore it.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride to NCIS was tense.

The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

Neither Sarah McGee nor Penny Langston felt like saying a word. They were scared, angry and worried at the same time.

Penny stopped at a light and glanced at her granddaughter out of the corner of her eye.

The past week has not been good for the McGee family.

John McGee, her son, was an admiral in the Navy. Until he got cancer, he was on the fast track of joining the Cabinet.

His chemo treatments failed.

His cancer was too advanced for surgery and he suddenly took a turn for the worse.

He could die at any moment.

Sarah wanted to get the whole family together so they could say goodbye.

Unfortunately, things remained strained between John and Tim, her grandson and Sarah's older brother.

Despite Tim's best efforts, all they did was argue.

John felt that Tim was "wasting his talents" being a naval cop.

He still wanted Tim to join the Navy as it was family tradition. However, this was impossible for Tim, due to his seasickness and allergies.

Sarah was furious with her brother.

She couldn't believe that he would take off for LA when their father was dying.

She left numerous messages on his cell phone, but he never answered, much less returned her calls.

Sarah assumed Tim's stubborn nature was kicking in.

And he wasn't answering out of spite.

Today he was supposed to return from LA. Sarah didn't want to waste another minute. Their first stop was Tim's apartment.

Sarah was bristling with impatience on the way to his building.

She barely waited for Penny to park her new Toyota Camry.

Normally, you had to be buzzed in. Fortunately, Sarah spotted a pair of fairly cute college students. She flirted with them, using her charm and beauty to win them over.

So it wasn't difficult to find their way inside.

Sarah was glancing at her watch and tapping her foot, muttering under her breath as the elevator slowly but surely made its way to Tim's floor.

Finally, it arrived at their destination.

Sarah barely waited for the doors to ding open.

She ran to Tim's apartment and started banging on the door. She began shouting for her brother to "get off his lazy ass and answer the fucking door before she broke it down".

But there was no response.

Frustrated, Sarah tried the doorknob.

It was locked.

Sarah's own stubborn nature reared its ugly head.

She continued to bang and shout until Tim's neighbors called the landlord to complain about the noise.

Mrs. Miller came to confront her.

After a loud argument, Mrs. Miller finally relented and used her key to open the door.

Sarah charged inside, ready to give her recalcitrant brother a piece of her mind.

All three women froze once they entered his living room.

While nothing was amiss, they had a bad feeling. Penny was especially alarmed at the layers of dust coating everything.

Tim was a neat freak and would NEVER leave his apartment in such a state.

A quick search revealed his clothes and luggage were still in his closet.

Alarmed, Sarah and Penny jogged back to her car. Their next stop was NCIS headquarters.

They hoped against hope that Tim was okay.

The light turned green and Penny resumed driving.

For Penny, it was an eerie sense of deja vu. She hoped against hope that her premonitions were wrong.

That her grandson was okay.

They finally reached NCIS headquarters.

It took a bit to park, get registered and receive visitor's passes. The security guard took them directly to Vance's office.

Which gave Penny a REALLY bad feeling.

Pamela Cook, Vance's assistant, directed them inside.

They were stiff and tense in their seats as they waited for Vance. It took a seemingly long time for him to join them.

In reality, it was only a few minutes.

"I'm sorry I kept you two waiting." Vance began as he sat at his desk. "I was at a meeting."

"It's okay, Director." Penny said. "We've only just arrived."

"Where is Tim?" Sarah demanded. "Is he okay? Why hasn't he been answering my calls? What's going on? I need to see him and-"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Miss McGee." Vance cut in, opening a silver box so he could grab a toothpick.

"Bad news?" Sarah repeated.

"I'm afraid Agent McGee has been kidnapped." Vance said.

Both women were stunned into silence.

Against his better judgment, Vance found himself going into more detail than he would've liked. He didn't show them the letter or photos detailing Tim's injuries.

However, he did admit the computer expert was being beaten and tortured.

Penny muttered something under her breath.

It wouldn't be until much later that Vance would be able to recall what she said:

"Not again."


	5. Chapter 5

Given DiNozzo's mood, one would think the agents were there to protect Niles Levinson and his..._friend_, not arrest them.

Everyone present was giving DiNozzo weary glances as he bagged and tagged evidence alongside Bishop and Sacks.

Levinson was the manager of the rundown Burger King where McGee's new Toyota Prius was found. He was a greasy, disgusting bastard with dirty clothes, beedy little eyes and thinning dark hair.

He didn't bother to call the police to report the car.

Even though it was in his parking lot for more than a week.

Instead, the douchebag was trying to sell it. If it wasn't for an employee with a conscience, they never would've found McGee's car.

Levinson was acting like his favorite toy had been taken away.

In other words, he was sulking, with a pout marring his ugly features.

He was sitting on a concrete curb with his hands secured behind his back. His customer, Ray Fredrickson, was also being arrested as he had no qualms buying a stolen vehicle.

When DiNozzo discovered the "transaction" taking place, he just lost it.

Which would explain Levinson's collection of bruises and scrapes.

Even worse, Levinson had already broken into McGee's car. He and his friend were already pawing all over the Prius before they could stop them.

It was highly likely Levinson had been in the Prius multiple times.

Which meant valuable forensic evidence was lost.

More bad news kept coming. Levinson admitted he found McGee's badge, phone and wallet in the car. He'd stolen McGee's money and acted like a kid in a candy store with his charge cards.

The phone was already sold.

He was drunk the night he sold it and he couldn't remember his customer.

Gibbs was the one who called for backup. However, everyone knew the extra agents were there to guard Levinson and Fredrickson.

And to protect them from DiNozzo.

Even DiNozzo knew he was a ticking time bomb.

However, they couldn't give up now. Even though it was highly unlikely they would find anything, the Prius would be towed back to NCIS.

Abby was already trying to track down McGee's cell phone.

Gibbs was busy interviewing the employee, Audrey Whitman, who called the police to report the car.

Every now and then, he would glance at his senior agent out of the corner of his eye.

He knew he had to keep an eye on DiNozzo.

Most people only saw DiNozzo's cocky facade and pranking tendencies.

Very few bothered to look beyond the surface. DiNozzo was a good, loyal agent who fiercely cared about his friends.

Even though it was hard to see it, DiNozzo truly cared about McGee.

He saw him as the little brother he never had.

Which meant Gibbs had to make sure DiNozzo kept his head. It was only the first day of their investigation and DiNozzo was already losing it.

The sorry states of Trent Kort and Niles Levinson was proof of that.

If DiNozzo kept this up, Vance would take him off the case.

Which would be equally disastrous. Gibbs wouldn't put it past his agent to take matters into his own hands and try to find McGee himself.

At least if DiNozzo was on the case, Gibbs could keep an eye on him.

Gibbs could sympathize with DiNozzo's anger.

Personally, he wanted to find McGee's kidnapper and tear him limb from limb. No one messed with a member of Gibbs' team and got away with it.

But they had to keep a level head.

They wouldn't do McGee any favors if they lost it.

Gibbs made a mental note to talk with his senior agent after they returned to NCIS. Hopefully, he could calm the younger agent down.

Or they would put McGee in even more danger than he already was.

* * *

"YOU WON'T TELL THEM JACK SHIT!"

Badly startled, Sarah jumped, accidentally dropping the coffee cups she'd been holding. She pressed a hand to her racing heart and tried to calm down.

After they left NCIS, Sarah and Penny headed for the hospital.

They were going to tell her father what happened to Tim.

Sarah knew something was up with her grandmother. She'd been tense, nervous and angry on the way to the hospital.

Penny waved off her questions, claiming she was merely worried about Tim.

Sarah knew there was something more to it than that.

She knew that Penny was hiding something. But no matter how many times Sarah poked and prodded, Penny refused to say a word.

She all but shooed Sarah out of her father's room.

Sending her to get coffee for the both of them.

Sarah didn't know how they were going to tell her father. He'd only gotten worse as his cancer progressed.

It was difficult to reconcile his current incarnation with her memories of him.

She peered around the doorway, into his room.

John McGee was different from the strong, complicated man she remembered. His features were gaunt. He was so thin, he was nearly skeletal.

He was also losing his hair.

Realizing this might be her only chance to learn their secrets, Sarah made sure she remained out of sight as she eavesdropped.

"...stake here than your damn pride!" Penny was hissing.

"This has nothing to do with Tim's kidnapping." John insisted.

"NCIS has a right to know." Penny crossed her arms over her chest. "And once they investigate Tim's background, it'll crop up sooner rather than later."

"That won't happen." John said. "I've seen to that personally many years ago."

"John." Penny tried.

"NO!" John shouted. He erupted into a series of coughs and reached weakly for a nearby cup of water. Penny rolled her eyes and gently carried the cup to his lips. She held the straw for him as he took several sips. "No." He said more quietly once his fit passed. "We vowed that wouldn't say a word. And I'm holding you to that promise."

"John, Tim's life is at stake!" Penny snapped.

"What happened in the past, has nothing to do with what is occurring now." John insisted stubbornly.

"Even now, you care more about the damn Navy than your own son." Penny said bitterly.

"Don't even go there, Mother." John warned. "I love my son. But we're not saying a word. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened!"


	6. Chapter 6

LATER THAT NIGHT...

The figure waited patiently.

The day passed at a snail's pace.

Finally, Gibbs and Fornell told their task force to get some rest and report back to NCIS in four hours.

It wasn't likely to get another chance.

The figure made sure the coast was clear as it tiptoed to NCIS's lab.

It didn't have to worry about surveillance cameras. The figure was very good with computers and made sure the tapes were on a loop.

So no one would see anything.

Luck was on its side, as no one was about.

Just to be on the safe side, the figure wore all black. Its hair was dyed, contact lenses changed the shade of their eyes and it even wore medical gloves.

It even wore a hat to shade its face.

The figure remained on high alert even as it entered the lab.

The figure reached inside the duffle bag it was carrying and removed a dustbuster.

Meticulously, the figure moved about the lab, vaccuuming the forensic evidence painstakingly collected from the Prius and McGee's apartment.

Then it dropped petri dishes onto the floor.

Carefully vaccuuming their contents.

The figure did the same to various microscopes. Then it reached inside the duffle bag and withdrew several water bottles.

The water was poured all over the computers.

Including the mass spectrometer.

Just in case NCIS went through the Prius a second time, the figure tiptoed to the garage where it was being kept.

The stupid bastards didn't even bother to lock up the doors.

Which suited the figure just fine.

The figure moved all over the Prius with a finetoothed comb. The dustbuster was used to great effect.

The figure reached inside the duffle bag and withdrew carpeting shampoo.

The car was carefully washed and vaccuumed.

Then, the figure withdrew something else and carefully secured it to the back of the rearview mirror, where it wouldn't immediately be spotted.

The object would make sure any remaining evidence was destroyed.

Just in case the figure missed something.

The figure moved about the garage and the lab, carefully gathering everything it used. Making sure nothing was left behind.

Satisfied, the person left.

* * *

Abby Sciuto was mad when her Timmy had been kidnapped.

But she was PISSED when she discovered the state of her lab.

She exchanged grim expressions with Ruby Denton. All of the evidence they'd carefully extracted from McGee's car had been destroyed.

The computers were blackened, smoking pieces of metal.

The Petri dishes were destroyed.

The mass spectrometer was in as sorry a state as the computers. Apparently, there was some fire. Thankfully, the overhead sprinklers doused the flames.

But the evidence was gone.

If there was anything left, it'd been compromised.

Abby knew she never should've left her lab. But Gibbs insisted. He wanted everyone fresh and ready before they tackled the case once more.

And he could see how frantic and worried Abby was.

He didn't want her emotions affecting her work or compromising McGee's safety.

Even Abby had to admit she tended to get..._excitable,_ especially when one of her friends was in danger. People she considered family.

While any romantic attachment she had towards McGee was gone, she considered him her best friend and surrogate brother.

She wanted to do her part in making sure McGee was rescued.

But she couldn't argue against Gibbs when the former Marine put his foot down.

So Abby went home. She'd barely fallen asleep when she got a call from Vance. Apparently, there had been a fire in her lab.

In HER lab!

The firefighters came and went. There was no need for their presence. The only ones that remained behind were the arson investigators.

You didn't need a rocket scientist to know the fire was set deliberately.

She wanted to go into her lab to assess the damage.

Unfortunately, the arson investigators weren't letting anyone inside. Abby managed to do a brief scan before she and Ruby were unceremoniously shunted out into the hall.

The bad news kept coming.

Not only was the forensic evidence gone, the letter and photos had been destroyed in the aftermath.

Gibbs and DiNozzo were arguing with several arson investigators outside the lab.

Both men looked pissed.

Abby was especially worried about DiNozzo. The former cop wasn't hiding behind his friendly, debonair demeanor.

Already, he was letting his anger get the better of him.

At this rate, Vance would take him off the case for sure.

Sighing, Abby motioned with her head for Ruby to join her. Abby had bad experiences in the past working with people. She winced as she remembered Chip, aka Charles Sterling, who attempted to kill her and frame DiNozzo for murder.

But she honestly liked Ruby.

She was friendly, hardworking and obviously knew her stuff.

While Abby liked Gibbs and his teammates, it was nice to work with a fellow scientist. Someone who actually knew what she was talking about.

With the exception of McGee, Gibbs and the other members of his team would give her blank looks everytime she used technical and scientific terms that admittedly went right over their heads unless she elucidated.

The women headed for the garage where McGee's car was located.

Abby decided to look for more evidence as she hated sitting around, doing nothing.

As Abby approached, she felt a curious sense of deja vu.

When did she feel this way before?

Abby paused, trying to think. Ruby stopped and gave her a curious glance, wondering why Abby had stopped.

Too late, Abby remembered an eerily similar scenario: the Harper Dearing incident.

Only this time, there was no Gibbs to quickly escort her away as the garage housing McGee's car suddenly exploded.


	7. Chapter 7

Abby couldn't breathe.

She couldn't even move.

As if from a distance, she could hear Ruby screaming in her ear. She could feel the other scientist tugging on her arm. But her feet remained glued to the floor.

"Abby, come on!" Ruby kept screaming. Her voice sounded tiny, as if she were shouting from the shoreline while Abby drowned in the ocean. "We gotta move! Come on! Come on!"

All she could do was stare.

Stare as the flames slowly moved towards her.

She felt like she was in a movie. It felt like time was slowing down. Everything was moving in slow motion.

Even Ruby's words were starting to slur.

Abby could feel the heat of the flames.

It was almost like watching a train wreck, in which someone couldn't help but look. She felt her morbid curiosity taking over.

The flames began to unfurl towards the ceiling.

They were a variety of colors, ranging from red to orange to yellow.

Part of her mind was screaming. It was screeching, wondering why she was analyzing the color palette of the flames when her life was in danger.

She tried to will herself to move.

But her feet didn't budge.

The heat increased and Abby started to sweat. The fire continued towards her. For some strange reason, Abby had the bad habit of analyzing trivial things at the worst possible moment.

Sadly, this time was no exception.

Sweat began to pespire from her forehead.

"Abby, let's go! Let's go!" Ruby screamed.

Ruby's voice sounded different, she couldn't help but note. She had a Tony moment, in which something was reminding her of a movie. She remembered the movie "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York", when the character Kevin McAllister used a tape recorder to distort his voice so he could sound like an adult when he made reservations at the Plaza Hotel.

Ruby's voice sounded just like that.

Finally, Ruby gave up.

She turned, her long hair flying behind her as she dropped Abby's arm and started to run. Abby couldn't help but turn her head to follow her movements. To Abby, she was running in slow motion.

She still felt detached.

If she were in her right mind, she would be angered over Ruby's desertion.

Slowly, Abby turned to face the flames once more. They were inching closer and closer. There was no sign of Gibbs.

No sign of rescue.

Abby couldn't bring herself to care.

She felt like she was watching the entire scene from a distance. The person staring at the fire couldn't possibly be her.

It was only a coincidence that the female in danger had black pigtails, a frayed pair of black jeans and an old Marilyn Manson T-shirt.

"Abby!" Ruby yelled again.

Finally, the flames reached her.

At that moment, Abby felt like Sarah Connor from "Terminator 2: Judgment Day". She remembered the scene in the park. Sarah was grabbing the fence, watching helplessly as the entire area was hit by a nuclear bomb.

The entire park was blackened and burnt.

Sarah could only scream as the flames washed over her.

She became nothing more than a screaming skeleton as the attack continued. Abby didn't have a clichéd moment, in which her entire life flashes before her eyes.

She didn't go through her bucket list.

Being depressed over all the things she didn't get to do.

She didn't have an equally long list, regretting the things she didn't say to the people she loved.

All she felt was her detachment disappearing.

All she felt was the sheer, utter agony of the flames washing over her and consuming her body.

All she felt was her voice yelling out one word: "GIBBS!"

Then everything went black.


	8. Chapter 8

The figure chuckled to itself.

Everything had gone according to plan.

It'd stayed hidden in the crowd of morbid curiosity seekers to watch the fun. The garage housing the car had been destroyed, just as it planned. It was too bad the overhead fire sprinklers contained the damage.

Which was a pity.

It would've enjoyed seeing NCIS burn to the ground.

Oh well, just as long as the evidence was destroyed, it didn't care one way or another.

The figure was in high spirits as it drove to the rendezvous point.

Visions of the money filling its overseas bank accounts filled its head.

Why else would it betray NCIS? The motivations weren't at all difficult to figure out:

Money.

Money made the world go round after all.

The figure couldn't wait to leave the United States. It planned to go on a long, awesome vacation in Europe and the Bahamas.

And it was going to get an awesome car.

Maybe a Corvette.

Or a BMW.

The possibilities were endless.

Besides, the figure couldn't stand the people working at NCIS. Especially that bitch, Abby Sciuto.

She always strutted around NCIS as if she owned the place.

And the way she dressed!

She always dressed like she was going to a Marilyn Manson concert. Not to mention the fact that she had the emotional maturity of a five year old having a temper tantrum.

If the figure was lucky, she died in that explosion.

The figure hummed along to Taylor Swift's "Shake it Off" as the drive continued.

The destination was deep in the countryside, but the figure didn't mind. Just as long as it got paid.

Its employer could wish to meet in Timbuktu for all it cared.

The money made it all worth it.

Finally, the figure reached an isolated farm in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, its employer believed in arriving first.

An SUV was already present.

The figure got out of the car and approached with its hand outstretched.

It expected a briefcase or a sack full of money.

What it got was a bullet to the head for its trouble.

* * *

I lowered the gun, seething in rage.

What an idiot.

The bomb was only supposed to be used when everyone was out of the building. The fact that Abby Sciuto was in danger really pissed me off.

Not that I gave a shit about the stupid bitch one way or the other.

But this would make Gibbs take the case more personally.

I knew every member on Tiny Tim's team, inside and out. Gibbs considered the little goth princess his surrogate daughter.

He was even more of a bulldog if she was ever in danger.

Which meant I had to be more careful.

Clearly I made one of my rare mistakes by hiring this dumbass. I guess not everyone is perfect. Even clearly superior specimens such as myself.

Heaving a sigh, I put on a pair of latex gloves.

Then I dragged the body to a nearby wheelbarrow and dropped it unceremoniously inside.

I made a mental note to dispose of the wheelbarrow.

Thankfully, the farm was practically abandoned as the owner rarely visited. Which was precisely why I chose this as my meeting place.

I'd already planned to dispose of this dipshit in the first place.

Nothing had gone my way tonight.

I wheeled the body into a nearby barn and dropped it on a large piece of tarp I'd placed on the floor hours earlier.

Fortunately, I was already covered in disposable hospital scrubs.

Meticulously, I shaved the head until there was no hair left.

I channeled my rage into removing the teeth, one by one. Once again, Tiny Tim ruined everything.

This is rather embarrassing to admit.

But I only get aroused by imagining the torture my victims go through.

FLASHBACK

_I shuddered as I came instantly._

_Lana stopped moaning as she glared at me in acute disgust._

_"That's it?" She sneered, unceremoniously shoving me off of her. Then she kicked me off the bed and started picking up random objects from the floor._

_I ducked and weaved as she threw things at me._

_"You lousy fuck!" She screeched. "My mother was right! You're a pathetic loser in every sense of the word! You can't even please a woman in bed!" I couldn't even get a word in edgewise._

_It was hard to reason with her when she was like this._

_"The only thing you're good for, is giving me a reason to take a nap!" She yelled. I stifled a curse when one of her Jimmy Choo shoes clipped me on the back of my head._

_Finally, she started throwing my clothes at me._

_She didn't even let me get dressed._

_She just shoved me out the door, which left me feeling like a fool as I stood on her front porch, clutching my clothes and shoes to my chest._

FLASHBACK ENDS

Damn cunt.

Didn't she know how lucky she was?

The fact that I deigned to spend time with her should make her feel like the happiest woman on earth.

I'll make her pay sooner or later.

For now, I'll restrain myself as she was a hot piece of ass. Besides, Tiny Tim would face the full extent of my wrath. It was his fault the sex was lousy anyway.

Finally, all of the teeth were removed. I dragged the body back to the wheelbarrow and carefully folded up the tarp.

I made sure all of the hairs and teeth were on said tarp.

I carried the tarp to my victim's car and dumped it inside.

Then I carefully placed heavy rocks throughout the car. I then wheeled the body to a nearby pigpen.

I know from experience that a bunch of pigs can consume a body completely.

Leaving only the hair and teeth behind.

The pigs squealed in delight as I dumped the body into their pen. As I expected, they began consuming the body at once.

I tossed the wheelbarrow into the back of my SUV.

Then I drove the victim's car to a nearby swamp.

I got the idea from the movie "Psycho". The original masterpiece from Alfred Hitchcock. Not the pathetic facsimile from that hack, Gus Van Sant.

I drove to the edge of the swamp and got out.

I grunted as I pushed, but finally, it fell into the swamp.

Thanks to the rocks, the car sank and sank until it fell inside completely. Satisfied, I checked on the pigs. They were making good progress with their meal.

I wasn't worried about the little piggies being caught.

The farmhands were lazy and wouldn't be around for days.

Whistling cheerfully, I got into my SUV and took off. I didn't feel like sleeping and I had plenty of time for another "session" with Tiny Tim.

* * *

"That's it?" Noelle McGee-Cartwright said in disbelief. "THIS is what you interrupted my honeymoon for?"

"Mom, is your brain leaking?" Sarah demanded. "I just said that Tim has been kidnapped! I'd think you would be rushing to DC as YOUR SON is in danger!"

"Don't remind me." Noelle said bitterly.

"Mom?" Sarah couldn't believe her ears.

"As far as I'm concerned that _weakling_ is no son of mine." Noelle said grimly. "If he wasn't such a pathetic loser, he wouldn't have gotten kidnapped in the first place!"

"Mom, are you saying it's Tim's own fault that he got kidnapped?" Sarah said angrily.

"It IS his fault!" Noelle insisted. "Just like the first time it happened! Don't bother me again!"

Then she hung up.

Sarah spent a long time standing in place, hearing the dial tone. The only thing that she could think about was that her mother didn't care about her brother.

It would be awhile before another thought would register:

Tim had been kidnapped before...


	9. Chapter 9

_Tim tried his best not to cry._

_He hugged his knees to his chest._

_It was so hard not to shiver. It was really cold. The winds were howling and he could almost swear there were a bunch of voices inside, whispering tauntingly in his ear._

_He glanced up._

_There was a full moon out. He couldn't take comfort in the stars. There were dark, grey clouds overhead. Only the moon was visible._

_The trees were bereft of leaves._

_Their branches were covered in both shadow and moonlight._

_Tim always possessed an overactive imagination. It wasn't hard to picture the ends of those branches reaching menacingly for him like demonic fingers. The edges were sharp and pointy._

_He shivered once more and hugged his knees even tighter._

_It was hard to tell how long he would remain in here._

_He didn't have a watch and the only way he could judge time was the rising and setting of the sun._

_The last time this happened, he'd passed out from hunger._

_Tim was doing his best to show that he'd learned his lesson._

HE_ didn't like it when he cried. _HE_ hated it when Tim displayed weakness of any kind._

_Tim barely suppressed a whimper._

_He didn't mean to cry. He'd tried to follow _HIS_ instructions._

_Unfortunately, their last _session_ had been especially painful. Tim bit his lip in order to suppress his urge to cry out._

_It wasn't enough._

_A sob escaped his lips before he could suppress it._

_As if adding insult to injury, a tear ran down his cheek._

HE_ was disgusted._

_The last thing Tim remembered was feeling a sharp pain on the back of his head. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in an all too familiar hellhole._

_Literally._

_There was no use trying to escape._

_The soil made it too impossible to climb. And he was still weak, trying to recover from being fed only two small meals a day._

_And that was only if _HE_ was feeling generous._

_If _HE_ was truly furious, sometimes, Tim wasn't fed at all._

_Tim froze when he heard familiar bootsteps approaching the hole. _HE_ wasn't trying to be stealthy at all._

_Even a novice could hear the cracks of twigs and crunching of leaves._

_Which meant _HE_ was in one of _THOSE_ moods._

Tim's shivering had nothing to do with the cold this time. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to disappear into himself. He could feel_ HIS eyes watching him, judging him and finding him wanting._

_As usual._

_"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy." _HE_ sneered. "You've been a naughty boy. And do you know what happens to naughty little boys?"_

_Tim was too afraid to answer._

_"They get _punished_."_

_Before Tim knew what was happening, he felt an all too familiar pair of hands grab him and toss him over a shoulder._

_Oh no._

_Not _him.

HE_ had an assistant. Somehow, Tim hated the assistant even more. For one thing, he couldn't stand the assistant's laughter._

_It reminded him of a gaggle of laughing hyenas._

_The laughter always displayed the assistant's psychotic nature. No matter what _HE_ said or did, it always sent him into a laughing fit. As if everything was one big lark._

_And he always grinned like a demented loon. He would skip about like a kid in a candy store._

_But that wasn't the worst part._

_Tim couldn't explain it._

_But there was something about the way the assistant watched him that made his skin crawl. Whenever he touched him, he would caress his pale skin longer than necessary._

_Even though the man only touched his wrists and ankles to shackle him, something in the manner in which the assistant caressed his skin made him want to vomit._

_He felt dirty and polluted._

_And he didn't know why. Tim was too lost in thought to notice the assistant reaching for something attached to his belt._

_Before Tim knew what was happening, everything went black again._

Tim's eyes shot open.

It was so hard to stay awake.

Even worse, his torment would bring everything rushing back. Everytime he passed out, he would relive bits and pieces of his previous kidnapping.

Memories he'd done his best to suppress.

Experiences that he wanted to pretend never happened to him.

It was the only way he could cope. "It never happened." John McGee coldly told him the one time he'd scrounged up enough courage to ask.

That might as well have been his father's credo.

Tim was too afraid of his father to disobey him.

With an effort, Tim suppressed his memories and sent them back to their previous hiding place.

This wasn't the time to focus on the past.

Gibbs would be so disappointed that he wasn't remembering his training as a federal agent.

Tim focused on his surroundings.

He was still in the same room.

His kidnapper never bothered changing his position, which meant he was still hanging like a human punching bag.

As if his body was determined to remind him, his pain came rushing back.

With a hiss, Tim did his best to ignore the pain.

He did his best to look around the room for a weapon. As usual, his kidnapper wasn't stupid enough to leave anything lying around.

And Tim was no Houdini.

His bonds were too tight and secure.

Tim was too lost in thought. Unlike his predecessor, his current kidnapper _was_ employing stealth.

He was too preoccupied to notice the door sliding open.

He was quickly brought back to reality when he felt something sharp and painful hit his back. "Hello, Tiny Tim." A familiar, mocking voice rang out. "I'm back!"

* * *

Noelle's hand was shaking as she lit a cigarette.

It was like something out of a bad movie, she thought distractedly.

She'd sent her new husband, Michael, out for some bullshit reason she couldn't remember. She needed time to steady her nerves.

Damn that Sarah.

Her daughter was poking her nose into her affairs. Bringing up bad memories that were best left in the past.

It was as if Sarah's call had been the key necessary to open Pandora's Box.

Luckily, Michael was still going to a liquor store to get some wine around the time her so-called daughter called.

So he wasn't around when Noelle had a confrontation out of her worst nightmares. She barely had enough time to hang up the phone when she heard the telltale click of an all too familiar lighter.

She gulped.

She knew the sound of that lighter...

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Then she slowly turned around. Sure enough, he was sitting in a lounge chair by the nightstand.

The room's lighting made it impossible to see his face.

Only one lamp was lit.

The rest of his body was visible. She could see his hand falling and rising as he steadily inhaled the nicotine from his cigar.

He still favored Cuban cigars, she mused absently.

"Hello, Noelle." He purred. "We need to _talk_."

* * *

Penny's hand was shaking after she hung up her cell phone.

Dammit, she cursed to herself.

Sarah had overheard more than she should while she confronted John in his room back at the hospital.

And Noelle couldn't lie or act to save her life.

Her actions only served to arouse Sarah's curiosity.

Now she knew that Tim had been kidnapped before. She had to stop Sarah before she started poking this particular hornet's nest.

She would get stung in an extreme fashion otherwise.

While she wanted to help her grandson, there was more at stake than Sarah knew.

As much as she hated to do it, Penny had to help her so-called son cover up the entire mess once more.

Fortunately, Sarah asked Penny to meet her at some diner near Waverly College.

Hopefully, the drive there would give Penny enough time to concoct some bullshit story.

Sarah couldn't find out the truth. No one could.

Her entire family would be destroyed otherwise.

Penny slid behind the wheel and took off. She rushed as fast as possible to the diner. Normally, she would obey the speed limits and laws of traffic.

But she was frantic.

Desperate to make sure her family's secrets never saw the light of day.

As a result, she was driving too fast to avoid the other car coming from the opposite direction. The driver was drunk, judging from the way the car swerved back and forth.

Penny panicked, jerking the wheel and applying the brakes.

Before Penny knew it, she collided with the other car.

Inevitably, everything went black.


	10. Chapter 10

"Did you know there are 64 tiles in the ceiling?" Jimmy Palmer asked conversationally.

Everyone, even Ducky, gave him a deadpan stare.

Palmer "meeped" and ducked his head, trying to disappear within himself.

DiNozzo snorted in disgust and resumed glaring at the floor. Beneath his crossed arms, he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

Gibbs was pacing back and forth like an angry lion in a cage.

Bishop was glancing between both men, concern shining in her eyes.

Ducky muttered something about getting coffee and slowly lumbered to his feet as he desperately needed something to do.

Vance was still at NCIS, trying to oversee the arson investigation.

Today had been the longest day for everyone involved.

Now they are at Bethesda, trying not to worry as the doctors examined Abby. Ruby, Fornell and Sacks were still at NCIS.

They were trying to see if any evidence could be salvaged.

Normally Gibbs was hard to read. However, it was more than obvious he was blaming himself for not getting Abby away in time.

Like he did during the Harper Dearing incident.

Not surprisingly, it got more personal.

First, the sick fuck kidnaps Tim and tortures him for his own sick amusement. Then he bombs NCIS and Abby might be a casualty thanks to the guy's need for shits and giggles.

"Agent Gibbs?" Everyone whirled around. It was Brat Pitt.

"Yes?" Gibbs said.

* * *

Sarah took another sip of coffee.

She was so nervous, she was tapping her right foot.

Every so often, she would glance at the front door of Maven's Diner. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of Penny.

Impatiently, she glanced at her watch.

It was nearly two thirty in the morning.

Where was Penny? She should have been here by now. Sarah was running on caffeine and adrenalin. Already, she was on her third cup.

But she was too wired to sleep.

She couldn't. Not when her brother was in danger.

She ran an impatient hand through her hair. People wouldn't think they were close. Sarah had always been braver, bolder and more of an Alpha than her brother.

Tim was quieter and meeker.

But Tim was tougher than he looked.

He took being her older brother very seriously. Tim was always there for her, like when she'd been framed for murder a few years ago.

It was Tim she turned to whenever she was in trouble.

Her parents were never easy to confide in.

Her father had the mentality that his children should be strong enough to solve their problems on their own. He preferred the sink or swim method.

Her mother was far more preoccupied with looking for excitement.

Tim and Sarah were never blind.

They knew Noelle couldn't cope with their father's long absences at sea. Being a naval wife wasn't in the cards for her.

And she wasn't exactly discreet when she started sleeping around.

Sarah grimaced.

Despite what people thought, she and her brother didn't enjoy an idyllic childhood. She could remember cowering in the closet, hugging her brother, as their parents' loud arguments filled the air.

Occasionally, there would be enraged screams.

Or the sounds of glass or pottery hitting the far wall as John and Noelle threw plates or glasses at each other.

"Image was everything", her father would say.

He refused to let anything ruin his _precious_ reputation.

So Tim and Sarah became adept at pretending, acting like everything was fucking hunky dory as they concealed the truth about their less than ideal home lives. Eventually, it became habit.

As a result, everyone assumed, to this day, they had happy childhoods.

Feh, it couldn't be further from the truth, she thought bitterly.

Sarah was jolted from her thoughts when her cell phone rang. "Yes?" She asked, hoping it was Penny.

"Miss Sarah McGee?" An unfamiliar male voice asked.

"Yes." Sarah said cautiously.

"My name is Sergeant Dale Wilkins of the Metropolitan Police Department." Wilkins said. "I understand you're the granddaughter of Penelope Langston?"

"How do you know that, Officer?" Sarah asked.

"You're listed as her emergency contact." Wilkins explained.

"What happened?" Sarah demanded. "Is she okay?"

"I need you to come to George Washington University Hospital right away." Wilkins said. "I'm afraid your grandmother was in an accident with a drunk driver."

"Is she okay?" Sarah bit her lip.

"She's in critical condition, Miss McGee." Wilkins said. "She might not make it."

Sarah quickly hung up.

She tossed some money onto the table and ran out of the diner.

* * *

He sat in the first class section of a red eye plane en route to Washington DC.

Trust Noelle to fuck things up, he mused.

That stupid cunt couldn't lie to save her life. Which was why he was heading for DC right now.

He was going to make sure the past stayed buried.

And it _has_ been a while since he visited his old friend, John McGee...


	11. Chapter 11

"Gibbs. Gibbs. GIBBS!"

She couldn't move.

Why couldn't she move?

Where was Gibbs?

Why wasn't he coming to help her?

She struggled, but she didn't get very far.

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Where are you?"

"Abby. Abby. ABBY!"

"GIBBS!" With a gasp, Abby's blue eyes shot open. She tried to rise to a sitting position, but something was holding her down. She panicked and tried to struggle.

"Abby! Abby, calm down!"

"Gibbs?" Abby relaxed when she heard the familiar, soothing baritones of her beloved silver fox.

"Abby, it's okay." Gibbs said. "Things are going to be just fine."

"Fine?" Abby blinked. "Then why can't I move?"

"You had to be strapped down." Gibbs explained. "You were thrashing around in your sleep. The doctors didn't want you to aggravate your burns."

"Burns?" Abby paled. She tried to raise her hands. "What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Gibbs asked.

"The garage exploded." Abby paled even further. "What about Ruby? Is she okay? Why am I not dead? I saw the flames moving towards me and my feet were frozen and it-"

"Shh, shhh!" Gibbs gently held her shoulders to stop her rambling. The beeping in the heart monitoring machine began to increase as her panic and agitation rose. "You need to calm down. Take a few deep breaths." Abby automatically complied, trying to control her rising panic. Finally, the beeping decreased after she'd taken several big breaths. "That's a girl. That's it. It's all okay. You're safe now."

"What happened?" Abby asked.

"When the garage exploded, you were blown away from the point of impact." Gibbs said. "You hit the far wall and hit your head. You suffered a concussion as well as minor, first degree burns on your arms and hands."

"So I didn't burn alive?" Abby asked in relief.

"No that was just a dream." Gibbs said.

"And Ruby?" Abby asked.

"She's fine." Gibbs said. "She was far enough away that the explosion didn't affect her."

"Thank God." Abby sighed, closing her eyes.

"The doctors assured me you'll make a complete recovery." Gibbs said. "But you're going to have to remain here a few days so they can monitor your concussion. Then you'll have to take some time off work while your skin heals."

"But what about the case?" Abby protested.

"Ruby can take over." Gibbs said. "And we'll have Danielle assist her." Danielle Evans was the second best forensic scientist NCIS had to offer.

"But Timmy needs my help!" Abby exclaimed. "How I can help him if I'm sitting here, rotting in the hospital?"

"Tim would want you to concentrate on your health." Gibbs said. "You won't do Tim any good if you try to work and aggravate your condition."

"But." Abby tried.

"But nothing." Gibbs said gently yet firmly. "Abby, you won't do anyone any good if you try to leave the hospital prematurely. You need to recover from your wounds and that's final."

"Okay." Abby said somewhat petulantly.

"It'll be okay, Abbs." Gibbs said. "Tim will be okay. We'll find him and get the bastard who did this. I promise."

"Promise?" Abby asked warily, as if afraid that Gibbs wouldn't keep his word.

"I promise."

* * *

By some miracle, Sarah made it George Washington University Hospital without getting a speed ticket or causing an accident.

She was panting and sweating up a storm by the time she made it to the emergency room.

Sergeant Wilkins was waiting for her near the front desk.

"Where's my grandmother?" Sarah demanded. "Is she... Is she..." She couldn't even complete the question.

"Ms. Langston is still in surgery, Miss McGee." Wilkins said. "I'm afraid I don't know anything other than the fact that she is in critical condition."

"What happened?" Sarah ran a hand through her long brown locks.

"Ms. Langston was speeding, Miss McGee." Wilkins said. "She was going nearly sixty miles per hour in a 30 mile zone. There was a drunk driver approaching from the opposite direction. She was going too fast to slow down or avoid him. They crashed upon impact. The accident was horrific as both were driving fast and neither person was wearing their seat belt. The drunk driver was killed instantly. It is only due to a miracle that your grandmother is still alive."

"Miracle?" Sarah echoed dumbly.

"She lost a lot of blood, Miss McGee." Wilkins said. "It was hard to determine what injuries she sustained, due to all the blood, but the damage the cars sustained was a story within itself."

"Oh God." Sarah looked ready to throw up.

"Miss McGee, do you know why your grandmother was driving so recklessly?" Wilkins asked.

"She was driving to meet me." Sarah admitted.

"Why?" Wilkins said. He didn't understand why Penny would drive so recklessly to some destination if she was only going to meet her granddaughter.

"I wanted answers." Sarah was lead to a private room.

"Answers?" Wilkins repeated.

"Do you know about my brother?" Sarah asked.

"Yes." Wilkins said. "NCIS's director, Leon Vance, sent out a discreet bulletin to all the police departments in the area. Which was why we knew to look for his car."

"Then you know he has been kidnapped before?" Sarah asked.

"He has?" Wilkins blinked. "But that's not in his file!"

"He has!" Sarah insisted. "I overheard my father and grandmother arguing. My father is John McGee, a prominent admiral in the navy. He is also at Bethesda, suffering from stage 4 terminal cancer. While I don't know the specifics, they implied that something happened to Tim in the past and my father did his level best to cover it up."

"Then how do you know he was kidnapped?" Wilkins said.

"Before I contacted my grandmother, asking her to meet with me, I talked to my mother, Noelle." Sarah explained. "My parents divorced a long time ago. I called my mother to let her know that Tim had been kidnapped. Let's just say she didn't act like an overly concerned mother. She only got angry because I had the 'gall' to interrupt her precious honeymoon. Then she said it was his fault that he got kidnapped, just like the last time."

"Okay, I'll look into it." Wilkins said. "I'll contact NCIS and see if Director Vance can't unearth anything. In the meantime, I highly suggest you concentrate on your grandmother and let the professionals handle it."

"I will." Sarah promised. "And thank you."

* * *

I whistled my favorite song as I carefully used my tools to make the next letter.

Down below, I knew Tiny Tim was still whimpering like a whipped dog.

Stupid little pussy.

My contempt of him was growing by the hour.

As usual, I made sure not to leave behind any fingerprints. I got the idea from the movie, The Bodyguard, which starred Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston.

I used the same method to glue the cutout letters to a white piece of paper.

I sincerely hoped Tony liked his latest present.

It was the Christmas season after all and I knew Tony would appreciate my efforts.

Unlike Tiny Tim.

The stupid bastard was so ungrateful.

And after all I'd done for him.

Jeesh.

You just can't please some people.

When I was done with the letter, I carefully used tweezers to place it and the accompanying photographs in a large manila envelope.

I used some glue to seal it closed.

I made sure my medical gloves were on as I wrote Tony's address across its face. Being the genius I am, I know to write in large block letters so no one could get a proper sample of my handwriting.

I continued whistling as I grabbed another large photograph.

This one didn't feature Tiny Tim at all.

I entered another secret room after removing a painting of a waterfall, revealing a keypad. I inputted the combination and a panel slid aside.

I made a mental note to change the combination as it was time.

The panel slid closed behind me and I turned on the lights.

Practically every inch of wall space was covered with photos. I found an empty spot and carefully secured it to the wall.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork.

The pictures had only one subject.

They showed a man chatting with some woman at a bar. Another picture showed him entering an apartment building. Another photo featured him leaving a laundromat with his full basket in tow.

Another photo showed the same man doing his job.

He was never aware of my scrutiny.

I was always too afraid to approach him. Normally, I'm not afraid of anything. But he was my idol.

My hero, if you will.

Soon, he will know the depths of my admiration. Soon, he will know the lengths I will go to, in order to express how much I idolized him.

Before I exited the room, I just had one thought:

Merry Christmas Tony, and have a Happy New Year...


	12. Chapter 12

Sarah found herself wishing she smoked.

It would give her an excuse to be outside.

So far, there was no word about her grandmother's condition. If she had to count the tiles in the ceiling of the waiting room one more time, she'd scream!

Already, she was contemplating whether she should count the chairs. She was that bored.

She already tried flipping through the magazines. She was too wound up and agitated to concentrate.

Much less sit still.

Sarah had taken to pacing.

Preferably, she'd been pacing the hallways. But the stern, nonsensical nurse she unceremoniously dubbed "Nurse Ratched" in her mind banished her to the waiting room.

She coldly reminded Sarah this was the ER, not a circus. She couldn't distract the patients or staff, who were "already stretched thin as it is".

When Nurse Ratched turned her back to leave the waiting room, Sarah sneered and gave her the one-finger salute in response.

Childish and petty it may be, but it certainly made Sarah feel better.

She hoped she didn't make a mistake, revealing all she knew to Sergeant Wilkins. But if there was anyone who could get answers, it was the police.

Secretly, Sarah was glad she wasn't doing an investigation on her own as she would have no idea where to even start.

If they could get NCIS involved, all the better.

Sarah felt her fingers twitching. She needed her caffeine fix, a habit she developed after pulling all nighters to study for something or other at Waverly College.

She tiptoed to the front door and cautiously looked through the small window. Damn, she thought. Nurse Ratched was still at her post.

As if sensing her thoughts, the damn bitch looked up and sternly met Sarah's gaze, not unlike a librarian who would give warning glares to all who entered her domain that they should be silent, or else.

Disgusted, Sarah resumed pacing.

* * *

Trent Kort closed the file he'd been perusing, intrigued.

His interest in Gibbs' "baby agent" was steadily rising ever since he heard the news that McGee had been kidnapped.

Using all the tricks he'd learned in the trade, it was almost pathetically easy to purloin McGee's personnel file.

Perhaps not too surprisingly, Kort's estimation of NCIS and its security procedures went down several notches.

Once he returned to CIA headquarters, Kort spent the next several hours gathering information on McGee and building his own file on the computer expert.

In some instances, it was more difficult than he thought to get the information in the first place.

Kort's experienced nose was sniffing a cover up of some kind.

At first glance, there was nothing interesting about McGee's profile.

Unlike his more experienced teammates, McGee had a disgustingly normal childhood. He had two parents, a younger sister and he was extremely close with his grandmother.

All the baby agent needed was the house with the white picket fence and a family dog to complete the Norman Rockwell portrait.

But Kort was too experienced to take anything at first glance.

First of all, John McGee experienced a lot of transfers for a naval officer. While he was eventually promoted, there were inevitable whispers about his family life that erupted everytime he lived at a certain base over time.

The scuttlebutt was viciously squashed as McGee had strong naval connections.

And he would transfer to a new base before new rumors could surface.

Kort also noted discrepancies in McGee's file. For some reason, there wasn't much information in a certain time period when he was only seven years old.

There was a six month window in which there was no information, period.

A less experienced agent would scoff and simply assume this meant that this portion of McGee's life was uneventful.

But Kort knew there was something more than meets the eye.

Proving it, however, was another matter entirely.

There was no evidence that anything happened to McGee at all. No director of a federal agency worth his salt would give Kort the go ahead to pursue his own case.

Especially since he had nothing more than his gut feeling to go on.

Then again, there were times when Kort pursued his own agenda.

With or without official permission.

Why should this time be anything different?

Kort then perused the pictures his contacts managed to fax over to him. There were many official photographs taken of the McGee family.

This wasn't surprising, as Admiral McGee was a man who cared about his image.

He was more interested in the pictures that were taken before Sarah McGee was born.

Kort picked up an official portrait at random. Judging from McGee's height and weight at the time, he was only five years old.

Kort stared at the parents first.

Admiral McGee was a stern, naval father in every sense of the word. His posture was always stiff and proper. While he had a hand on his son's shoulder, his grip was stiff and unyielding.

There was no hint of fatherly affection whatsoever.

His eyes, like his face, were cold and hard to read. His face looked as if it should have been carved from marble for all the emotion it showed.

Noelle McGee wasn't any better.

The perfectly styled hair and the expertly applied makeup couldn't disguise the buried anger and resentment in her eyes.

She had a hand on her son's other shoulder.

But her grip was tight, as if she was determined to cause him pain. Kort shifted his gaze to a younger Timothy McGee.

The boy looked stiff and uncomfortable in his suit.

There was also something rather odd about his eyes. Something that Kort couldn't quite place.

At that moment, Kort felt an eerie chill go up and down his spine.

Clearly, the small family was hiding something. Making Kort wonder what was hidden in their proverbial closet.

Kort nearly jumped when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the ID screen, blinking when he recognized the number of one of his contacts.

It was Sergeant Dale Wilkins from Metro.

* * *

Unable to get any sleep, Gibbs trotted down the stairs to his basement.

He poured himself a glass of bourbon.

Then he grabbed a sander from his toolbox and approached his boat. He was too furious with Vance to think straight.

Gibbs spent more time than he wanted talking with Abby. But his surrogate daughter was feeling especially vulnerable and she needed more reassurance from her beloved silver fox. Before Gibbs knew it, two hours already passed.

That was when Vance called. Gibbs spent a few minutes talking with Vance. When Vance gave the reason WHY he phoned Gibbs, the former Marine nearly lost it. He jumped to his feet and raced out the room, ignoring Abby's cries of alarm.

FLASHBACK

_"WHAT!?" Gibbs headed for a hospital room at random. Thanking God for small mercies, he was relieved to see that it was empty._

_"I'm taking you guys off the case, Gibbs." Vance said calmly, one of the rare few who was unfazed by Gibbs' anger._

_"How could you do this to us, Leon?" Gibbs said. "That sick fuck has McGee and is doing only God knows what to him. Then he blew up NCIS and nearly got Abby killed!"_

_"That's exactly _why_ I'm doing this." Vance said._

_"What?" Gibbs asked through gritted teeth._

_"You're too close." Vance said. "It's more than obvious you guys are taking this case much too personally. Already, I've heard reports of DiNozzo losing his temper, more than once, I might add. On the _first day_ of your investigation. And you yourself have no objectivity where Ms. Sciuto is concerned, Jethro."_

_"Leon!" Gibbs was _this_ close to exploding._

_"My decision is final, Gibbs." Vance said, a hint of warning in his voice. "As of now, Agent Balboa and his team will be taking over."_


	13. AN

AN: Hey guys, what gives. I hate to ask, but why isn't anyone reviewing?  
Please give a review. And please be kind, as obviously, this is my first story. 


	14. Chapter 14

Time Skip: Three days later

Sarah dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

By now, she knew every inch of the waiting room.

Thankfully, Penny was still alive. But her condition was still considered critical and the doctors had to resuscitate her several times.

Sarah nearly had a heart attack the first time her grandmother stopped breathing.

The ER staff took pity on her and allowed her to "move" into the waiting room, so to speak.

Even Nurse Ratched acted somewhat human.

Sarah had to force herself to go home, take a shower and grab a bite to eat yesterday. The food tasted like sandpaper and she had to will herself to chew and swallow.

Nurse Ratched noticed her blood sugar levels were getting low.

She practically barked at Sarah, threatening to remove her from the hospital altogether unless she finally got some food.

Sarah didn't want to leave. She wanted to remain in the hospital in case her grandmother woke up. Stubbornness ran in the McGee family and it was a trait that Sarah had in spades.

She only relented when Nurse Ratched pointed out she wouldn't do her grandmother any favors if she collapsed.

Sarah complied and raced back as soon as she was done with her shower.

Every night, she would take sleeping pills.

Otherwise, she would only stare at the ceiling and count the tiles instead of sheep.

Penny wasn't her only problem.

So far, NCIS hasn't contacted her with any updates. If Sarah wasn't preoccupied with Penny's condition, she would be dialing Vance every hour, on the hour.

She made a mental note to contact NCIS later on.

She hoped they got the sick fuck who was torturing her brother.

Sarah rubbed at her forehead. She was still taken aback by her mother's lack of concern for Tim's welfare.

Then again, perhaps she shouldn't be.

Even as a child, Sarah wasn't blind.

Noelle would never earn Mother of the Year awards. However, she gave Sarah at least _some_ love and affection.

Tim was a different story.

Noelle would glare at him with hatred shining in her eyes. It was eerie since Tim inherited his emerald-green eyes from his mother.

When Tim got into his car accident many years ago, the only people who visited him in the hospital were Sarah and Penny. Noelle couldn't be bothered. Officially, she was busy entertaining other naval wives.

In reality, she was preoccupied with her latest lover.

As usual, John McGee was at sea.

Even when he got news of his son's accident, her father was more concerned with advancing his career.

On the rare occasions he was ashore, her father was busy schmoozing with politicians and high level naval officers.

Tim never registered on his radar.

Sarah wanted to vomit at Noelle's reaction to the news of Tim's accident. There was a look of _savage glee_ on her face when a police officer contacted her with the news.

Then an angry scowl replaced her shit-eating grin when she learned her son was still alive.

It should've been the other way around, Sarah mused.

Noelle seemed to despise Tim from the get-go.

She mocked him everytime he had trouble with bullies. Everytime he came to her with a problem, she would shoo him away and act like he was less than dirt underneath her _precious_ designer shoes.

You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out Noelle wanted nothing to do with him.

But Sarah thought the stupid bitch would at least care that Tim was in danger. Whether she liked it or not, Tim was still her son.

Her father was another problem.

John's condition continued to worsen.

She knew that something was agitating him. But he refused to elaborate as to what was going on with him.

And he was eerily calm.

It was like he didn't _care_ that Tim could _die_.

In fact, he showed more concern when he got the news that Penny was in an accident. What was wrong with her family?

What did Tim do to deserve such hatred, indifference and contempt?

Sarah checked her watch. It was nearly noon.

With nothing better to do, she decided to head to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat. Admittedly, she wasn't hungry.

But she wasn't up for another round with Nurse Ratched.

Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Did I do the right thing, Vance wondered for the thousandth time.

He reached into the box to pull out another toothpick.

Vance knew Gibbs would protest the instant he received orders to pull out of the McGee case.

In Vance's opinion, this had to be done.

His secret investigation required _delicate_ handling.

Gibbs was about as delicate as a bull in a china shop. Vance couldn't afford to let Gibbs run the show with his cowboy methods.

And Vance was worried DiNozzo would make things worse.

Don't get him wrong, he knew the former cop was a great agent.

However, DiNozzo was angry and snapping at everybody over every little thing. He was a ticking time bomb and letting him participate in this investigation would only lead to disaster.

It was so bad, DiNozzo was (stupidly) yelling at Gibbs.

Which, in turn, would earn him more Gibbslaps than usual.

Vance remembered the shock he received when he got a call from Sergeant Dale Wilkins, who worked for Metro.

As Wilkins admitted what he learned from Sarah McGee, this caused Vance to recall what Penny Langston uttered in his office hours earlier.

Vance suspected Sarah was right.

That Tim had been kidnapped before and Admiral McGee used his naval connections to cover it up.

Vance knew he had to be circumspect in his investigation.

He ordered Wilkins to keep this to himself.

This was precisely why he pulled Team Gibbs off the case. Not only were they taking McGee's kidnapping too personally, Vance didn't want to tip off the higher-ups that he was digging into McGee's past.

Gibbs didn't know the meaning of the word subtle.

And DiNozzo was too angry and hotheaded to be reasonable.

In Vance's opinion, this had to be handled in a secretive fashion. Just like when he originally split up the time to root out the mole, who turned out to be Michelle Lee.

So far, Vance was running into dead ends.

Admiral McGee did an annoyingly good job at sweeping things underneath the proverbial rug.

Vance could admire that.

And he did, albeit grudgingly.

Vance absently chewed on his toothpick, deep in thought. He made sure to keep Team Gibbs occupied with cold cases.

He wouldn't put it past any of them to take matters in their own hands and try to rescue McGee themselves.

Especially DiNozzo.

Fortunately, Bishop managed to find a new lead on a cold case she'd been perusing and the team was out pursuing aforementioned lead.

Vance ordered Gibbs to put DiNozzo on a leash.

He didn't want to lose DiNozzo, as his experience and excellent record spoke for itself.

But he couldn't have the man losing his temper. Vance lost count of the complaints he'd been receiving from suspects, other agents and staff alike. The denizens of CCU were especially miffed as DiNozzo had less patience than usual.

Everytime he had to deal with a computer expert, he would make especially snide remarks.

If he kept this up, he was going to get fired.

Vance was jolted from his thoughts when his cell phone vibrated.

He got two texts. One came from Gibbs, who explained the lead turned out to be another dead body with the same modus operandi.

The second came from Kort, who wanted to meet him in a secret location.

_Oh, joy._

* * *

I slowly lowered my binoculars.

My grin threatened to split my face.

I'd always suspected that Gibbs and the others didn't give a shit about Tiny Tim. I was pleased as punch to learn I was _right_.

As usual, I was careful.

I didn't use my SUV.

I carefully disguised myself and made sure my car was especially hidden as I took pictures and videotaped the proceedings from afar.

Gibbs, Tony and Bishop were working on a different case.

Which had nothing to do with Tiny Tim.

Normally, Gibbs had sharp senses. But I am one of those rare individuals that could conceal himself completely.

In other words, I was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

In that sense, I was like Ted Bundy.

No one ever suspected my true nature. I am a master when it comes to stealth, disguises and masks.

There are a "lucky" few who get exposed to the man behind the mask.

Like Tiny Tim.

Speaking of the waste of space, he was recovering from our latest "session" together. I knocked him out with a syringe.

I had plans for the little shit as soon as I returned to the cabin.

Fortunately, there was no rush as the drug would keep him unconscious for hours.

I raised my binoculars again. They were acting like it was just another day on the job. There was no indication they cared that Tiny Tim was enjoying my _tender_ ministrations.

Oh, I couldn't have planned this better if I'd tried!

I made a mental note to show the footage to Tiny Tim. After all, this was the Christmas season and I'm feeling generous for a change.

Besides, he had to be so bored, with nothing to see but the four walls of his current home. It occurred to me that I was being a rude host.

I should provide some _entertainment._

* * *

Unaware of their shadow, Team Gibbs wrapped up their investigation and returned to NCIS.

However, DiNozzo didn't want to solve the murder of Petty Officer Leland Frost.

He wanted to investigate McGee's kidnapping.

After he got into another shouting match with Gibbs, the former Marine finally snapped and told DiNozzo to go home.

He was tersely ordered to get some sleep and come back in a calmer mood the next morning.

Otherwise, he wouldn't come back, period.

Furious, DiNozzo raced home, barely obeying the speed limits.

DiNozzo couldn't understand his boss. Why was Gibbs meekly following Vance's orders? He lost count the number of times Gibbs took matters into his own hands.

Especially when a member of his team was in danger.

McGee should NOT be an exception to the rule.

DiNozzo suppressed a grimace. Even he knew he was extremely angry and out of line. He knew he shouldn't be yelling at people for real or imagined infractions.

And he was reaching new levels of stupidity by getting into arguments with Gibbs of all people.

But he couldn't help himself.

His surrogate younger brother was in danger and DiNozzo couldn't help him.

If things didn't change soon, DiNozzo was going to take matters into his own hands. He didn't care if this cost him his job or his life.

The only thing that mattered was saving McGee.

DiNozzo parked his car and headed for his apartment.

As it was, he was on thin ice with Gibbs. There was no point in disobeying him. Not yet, anyway.

DiNozzo headed inside, not even bothering to lock the door behind him.

He kicked off his shoes and popped a couple of sleeping pills into his mouth. Then he plopped face-down on his couch. He was asleep before his head hit the cushion.

* * *

I couldn't believe my luck.

Tony didn't bother to lock the front door!

The risk of discovery was great, but I couldn't help myself. I felt like the fan who was finally able to meet the celebrity he or she idolized.

I tiptoed my way into the apartment.

As usual, I made sure I wore medical gloves.

There were also hospital scrubs over my shoes so I wouldn't leave any foot impressions behind.

Tony was face down, fast asleep.

I stealthily made my way throughout the apartment.

I couldn't help myself. I rifled through his drawers. I perused his photo albums. I pawed through his belongings.

But I straightened them afterwards.

There was no point in letting him know someone had been in his apartment.

I took several souvenirs. I made sure they were items that wouldn't be missed. I held them to my nose. I felt a wave of ecstasy as I closed my eyes and inhaled his familiar scent.

Even after all this time, he still wore the same cologne.

I did the same to his clothes.

Finally, I reached Tony's couch and got into a crouched position. It was a compulsion I couldn't control.

I stared at him.

Unable to look away.

Normally, I'm as cool as a cucumber. However, my idol was finally just a few feet away from me.

It was all I could do to avoid squealing like a schoolgirl.

I wanted to reach out and stroke his hair.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a _homosexual._ But Tony was a virtual _god_ in my eyes. Someone who deigned to let the mortals gaze upon his awesome visage as he walked amongst the unwashed masses.

They didn't _deserve_ the privilege.

Especially _Tiny Tim_.

I gave into impulse. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pair of sewing scissors. Then I pulled out a Ziploc bag.

I carefully cut a few hairs and let them fall into the bag.

Reluctantly, I got to my feet.

I carefully closed the bag and shoved it into my pocket alongside the scissors. I gazed longingly over my shoulder as I exited. I didn't want to leave.

However, it was too soon for Tony to learn who I was.

Besides, he was getting his Christmas present soon enough. With a sad sigh, I tiptoed out of the apartment and carefully closed the door behind me.

I contented myself with the knowledge that soon Tony would know all that I'd done for him.

I pictured my idol's happy reaction as I returned to my car.


	15. Chapter 15

_Despite what was about to happen, Ducky was as cheerful as ever._

_He was clad in his customary hospital scrubs with a white mask over his face._

_Gibbs was standing nearby. As usual, his expression was unreadable and he had his arms crossed over his chest._

_Tim was on the other side._

_For once, the entire team was present. DiNozzo had a slight smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Ziva was in her "Mossad" mode as her expression was even more stoic than Gibbs'._

_"...is fascinating." Ducky was saying. "You rarely get a case like this." He had a scalpel in his hand as he perused the body gracing the Autopsy table. "Why, I haven't seen anything like this since my early days as a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps. In fact-"_

_As usual, Gibbs looked annoyed because Ducky tended to ramble. He opened his mouth to say..._

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey!"

What the-

Gibbs would never say anything like that!

It took a long time for Tim to get his bearings.

His mind was foggy and it felt like his ears were filled with cotton. He felt incredibly dizzy and disoriented. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen.

Automatically, he shook his head in order to clear it.

He regretted it instantly.

His dizziness got worse and it was all he could do to avoid throwing up. Tim tried opening his eyes and hissed as the bright light pierced his eyes.

Dark spots filled his vision.

He had to blink several times in order to clear it.

When the room stopped spinning, Tim cautiously opened his eyes again. As his vision adjusted to the increase in light, the fog in his head began to clear.

Gradually, he began to remember what was going on.

As if his body was determined to remind him, the pain returned.

Tim let out another hiss. As he took in his surroundings, he realized that he was in a different room entirely.

The room was bigger and the walls were made out of tin.

The room was more exposed to the elements.

He could hear the rustling winds. The walls were rattling and he could feel cold drafts washing over him.

It felt like he'd been dumped in a large tub full of cold water.

He had no defense, clad as he was in a pair of boxers.

His tormentor was waiting with uncharacteristic patience for him to wake up. The bastard had a sinister grin on his face as he lovingly caressed an unfamiliar medical device of some kind.

His captor was standing near a box full of them.

Tim cautiously glanced up.

He was still dangling like a punching bag. His hands were securely chained. He glanced downwards. Sure enough, his ankles were chained as well.

"Are we finally awake?" His tormentor asked mockingly.

Tim could do little more than glare.

"Goody!" The man put down the device so he could jump up and down and clap his hands in a gleeful manner. "Now we can _play_!"

* * *

Kort checked his watch for the dozenth time.

He felt like he'd been waiting in his car for hours.

In reality, it'd only been a few minutes since he last checked. Kort didn't look like his normally cocky self. He could feel his customary masks disintegrating into nothing as time passed.

He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes.

He felt like he hadn't slept properly in days.

When Kort first began his investigation, he didn't think he would find anything of note.

After all, Timothy McGee was supposed to be the _normal_ member of his team.

But Kort was finding more than he bargained for.

So far, he'd unearthed bits and pieces of circumstantial evidence. By themselves, they wouldn't be alarming. It was frighteningly easy to dismiss them and assume they didn't amount to anything.

However, when you put them together...

They were starting to form a grim picture. Like Gibbs, Kort didn't believe in coincidences.

Gibbs' "baby agent" was turning out to be more complicated than Kort ever imagined. The more Kort found out, the less he liked what he was uncovering.

His paranoia was increasing by the day.

So much so that Kort never stayed in the same place for long.

While there was nothing concrete to go on, Kort was never one to ignore his instincts. They saved his ass on more than one occasion over the years and he wasn't about to ignore them now.

Especially as he had a feeling he was being followed.

Kort was grim as he perused a file in particular.

It was this file that convinced him he couldn't complete his investigation by himself. Kort wasn't a man that frightened easily. He didn't survive this long without developing important skills over the years.

However, there were several men in the world that gave even Kort nightmares.

And if Gibbs' baby agent had crossed paths with him...

Kort rubbed at his eyes again. If this bastard had been involved with McGee's first kidnapping, it would explain why Admiral McGee and the federal government went to such great lengths to cover it up.

Where the fuck was Vance!?

Why wasn't he coming?

Kort was so deep in thought, he was badly startled when someone banged on the window of his car.

Vance raised an eyebrow as Kort aimed his gun at his face.

Absently, Vance chewed on a toothpick as he took in Kort's rumpled appearance.

Kort didn't look good. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his clothes were wrinkled and judging by the appearance of his chin, he hadn't shaved in days. There was a wild look in his eyes. If Vance didn't know any better, he would've thought Kort was an escapee from an insane asylum.

Vance pointedly eyed the gun.

Kort managed a weak, almost sheepish grin as he belatedly lowered the gun.

Then he unrolled the window.

"All right, Kort." Vance wasn't in the mood for games. "Why the _hell_ did you drag me out here?"

* * *

Contrary to what DiNozzo believed, Gibbs wasn't meekly following Vance's orders.

He couldn't believe his luck when he got the news that Vance would be gone for a few hours. According to Pamela, he left on "personal business".

Good.

Now Gibbs could finally put his plan into motion.

He suppressed a grimace as he excused himself from the bullpen on the pretense of visiting Ducky in Autopsy.

It'd been very difficult not to act upon his usual, protective impulses.

While Gibbs would never admit it out loud, he saw his team as his family.

And he was never one to just sit around whenever a member of that family was in danger. Once a Marine, always a Marine, he mused. And Gibbs refused to leave a man behind.

Especially not McGee.

Gibbs wasn't one for showing emotions.

But he was protective over the members of his team. He was especially protective over McGee. Which was why McGee never saw much action out in the field.

He was far less experienced than his colleagues.

Which was why Gibbs preferred for him to remain at NCIS headquarters, either working his magic at his computer or assisting Abby in her lab.

However, it was difficult for Gibbs to verbally express his feelings.

So he demonstrated them with action, not words.

Normally, it wouldn't take Gibbs this long to launch his own "unofficial investigation". Unfortunately, Vance was watching him like a hawk. And the "good" director was making sure they were kept busy with cold cases.

Vance was also mindful of DiNozzo and Bishop.

He wanted to know their whereabouts at all times.

Gibbs' ice-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. He headed outside, deep in thought. Gibbs never bought the cock and bull story Vance gave him several days earlier after he informed the former Marine why Team Gibbs was being taken off the case.

Gibbs had a feeling there was something more to it than that.

Vance never interfered when Gibbs wanted to launch his own rescue, especially if a member of his team was in danger.

There was never such bullshit as "taking a case too personally".

Which meant Vance learned something. Something big.

So Vance was feeding him a line. But why? What was going on? Gibbs refused to take this lying down. While he couldn't do anything personally, Vance couldn't stop him from utilizing his own contacts.

Gibbs speed dialed one of his old Marine buddies from his Desert Storm days.

"Foster? Whatcha got for me?"

* * *

I snickered as I headed back to the cabin.

Really, Tiny Tim was too _easy_.

He was so pathetic. So weak and ineffectual in every sense of the word. It was so easy to make him suffer, I almost felt insulted.

I didn't have to make an effort.

No wonder Gibbs and the others held him in contempt.

As always, I made sure no one was looking as I carefully unlocked the front door. I rushed inside, locked the door behind me and headed for the picture of the waterfall.

I changed the combination while Tiny Tim was still out cold.

I entered the secret room and headed for a nearby table.

The duffle bag I stashed there earlier still contained the items I'd purloined from Tony's apartment. I handled them reverently, as if each item was a religious relic.

To me, they were more deserving of worship than Jesus Christ.

There was no God, no angels, no so-called savior who supposedly died on the cross for our sins. To me, there was only one, _true_ God:

Anthony DiNozzo Jr.

A wave of uncertainty washed over me.

Was I worthy? After all, these items belonged to Tony. I felt so unworthy and _tainted_ in their divine presence. It was all I could do not to faint as I'd stared at Tony just an hour or so earlier.

He was above me.

I didn't deserve to take in his awesome visage.

I'd felt so unworthy.

So pathetic.

So _unclean_.

Then my jaw firmed. What am I, _Tiny Tim_? I was the only person worthy of expressing my admiration and worship of Anthony DiNozzo Jr. Who better? After all, I am the only person who could see Tony as he truly was. He was a God. Someone who existed far above the lesser mortals infesting the entire world.

Not even _Gibbs_ could measure up to Tony.

Slowly, I approached a hatstand, which contained a single hanger.

Then I grabbed the coarse brown cloak and hood attached to the hanger. I carefully washed my hands in a nearby sink. Then I donned the cloak and hood. I put the items back into the duffle bag and entered another room.

Carefully, I lit the candles spaced throughout the room.

Then I approached my personal shrine to my idol.

I carefully placed the items around the shrine. Then I knelt on the ground, pressed my hands together and reverently lowered my forehead to the floor.

Almost timidly, I glanced up and gazed upon the shrine.

A wave of strength and certainty washed over me.

This, to me, was proof that what I was doing was _right_. Tony would surely appreciate the lengths I'd gone to, in order to express my devotion.

Tiny Tim was going to pay for sullying Tony with his _putrid_ presence.

In ways he could not even _begin_ to imagine.


	16. Chapter 16

"GODDAMN IT, JONES! YOU SICK FUCK!"

Cole Matthews was fit to be tied as he took in the state of the hogpen.

He got the short end of the stick yet again. The only other farm hand around was Frank Gordon. Neither man felt like cleaning the hogpen, so they played a game of rock, paper and scissors. Cole virulently cursed up a storm when his hand formed a rock and a smug Frank covered it with paper, so to speak.

So he had the unfortunate task of cleaning up the hogpen.

Cole frowned severely.

There were bits of clothing strewn all over the place. The articles had been savagely torn into little pieces. Cole knew this was all Aaron Jones' fault.

The sick fuck had a bad habit of rutting with the animals.

The only reason he still had a job was because his father owned the farm. Heaving a sigh, Matthews gathered all of the pieces of clothing and tossed them into a nearby wheelbarrow.

At least they would make good fuel for the fire as it was getting colder.

Cole paused when he spotted a shiny object in the muck.

Carefully, he picked it up with his gloved hands. He wiped off the mud and his eyes lit up. It was a necklace! Judging from the color of the stones, it was turquoise.

While Cole was no expert, he assumed it was Native American jewelry.

This was perfect as he wanted to work things out with Krissy.

They'd been on and off for years and Krissy kept stating he'd better "shape up or she was moving on to someone else". Cole didn't want to lose her.

Making sure no one was looking, Cole shoved the necklace into his pocket.

He was sure Krissy was going to love it.

* * *

"Sarah?"

Sarah's head shot up. She barely managed a relieved smile as she (reluctantly) rose to her feet. "Amanda. I'm so glad you came."

Amanda Grey was worried as the normally spunky girl hugged her desperately. Sarah didn't look like her usual self at all. While her hair was clean, it was sticking up all over the place. Her clothing was wrinkled and her eyes were red from crying.

"Sarah, what's going on?" Amanda asked. "Why did you want me to come to the hospital?"

"Penny was in an accident with a drunk driver." Sarah rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "The doctors aren't sure she's going to make it. Her condition is still critical."

"Oh my God." Amanda whispered. "Where's Tim? Why isn't he here? I thought Tim and Penny were close."

Sarah hesitated.

This wasn't going to be easy to say.

For a few minutes, she carefully perused the woman she was coming to consider a friend. Amanda was pretty enough. She wouldn't be considered a supermodel, but no one could dismiss her as commonplace, either. She was of average height. She had long red-gold hair and stormy grey eyes.

She was a respected professor of physics at Waverly College.

In her spare time, she wrote mystery novels.

In fact, Tim and Amanda met each other at a writer's convention in Chicago several months earlier. Despite their busy schedules, they decided to go out on a date.

They've been together ever since.

Admittedly, it wasn't easy to keep their relationship going.

Tim worked unpredictable hours in a dangerous profession. Amanda had many classes at Waverly College and she gave traveling lectures. They would use Skype in order to keep in contact with each other. But it wasn't the same as meeting in person.

However, both were stubborn enough to keep trying.

Only Sarah and Penny knew about Amanda.

Noelle wouldn't give a shit and John would never approve since Amanda didn't come from a naval family.

And Tim felt it was too soon to introduce Amanda to his colleagues since they'd only been going out four months.

"Sarah?" Amanda prodded.

"Amanda, this isn't easy to admit." Sarah said.

"What's wrong?" Amanda said. "Did something happen to Tim?"

"Yeah." Sarah admitted. "Tim's been kidnapped."

"What!?" Amanda couldn't believe her ears.

"Tim was kidnapped on the day he was supposed to head for the writer's convention in LA." Sarah explained. "I've been trying to call him all week. Our father's taken a turn for the worse and I wanted to get our family together so we would have a chance to say goodbye. As you know, Tim and my father have been arguing over his refusal to join the Navy. I thought Tim wasn't answering out of spite. Imagine my shock when I go to NCIS and learn that Tim has been kidnapped!"

"And what about your grandmother?" Amanda asked. "When did she get in an accident?"

"She crashed with a drunk driver a few days ago." Sarah tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "She was going to meet me at Maven's Diner. I had some questions for her."

"Questions?" Amanda said.

"I was going to confront her about the past." Sarah said.

"What do you mean?" Amanda said. Amanda felt sick to her stomach as Sarah described the argument she'd overheard between John and Penny. Then she wanted to punch the wall as Sarah described her conversation with Noelle.

"Oh, God." Amanda had been trying to call Tim as well. She thought he wasn't answering the phone or returning her calls because he was having an affair. She was prepared to dump him when she got an unexpected call from Sarah. Sarah refused to explain what was wrong. She insisted that Amanda come to the hospital immediately.

"I can't believe this is happening." Sarah muttered. "First, my father's cancer gets worse. Then my brother gets kidnapped. And third, my grandmother gets in an accident and she could die. What am I going to do, Amanda? What if my father dies? What if Penny dies? What if they never rescue Tim? What-"

"Stop it!" Amanda grabbed her arms and gave her a gentle shake as Sarah began to hyperventilate. "Take a deep breath." Sarah automatically complied. "That's it. That a girl. Take another deep breath." Sarah needed several deep breaths to calm down.

"Sorry about that." Sarah felt ashamed as she stared at her hands.

"Don't apologize, Sarah." Amanda said. "You've been going through hell the past few days. But we need to keep calm. We won't do our loved ones any good if we lose it."

"What should I do?" Sarah asked.

"Pray." Amanda said.

"_Pray_?" Sarah said skeptically.

"Yes." Amanda said. "We pray. As corny as it sounds, we need to believe with all our hearts that John will remain alive, your grandmother survives and that Tim gets rescued. Because I refuse to consider the alternative. It will be okay Sarah, I promise."

For Sarah, this was the final straw and the dam broke.

She'd been trying so hard to remain strong.

But it finally hit her that her father was dying, her grandmother could expire at any moment and there was a huge chance Tim might never be rescued. It didn't help that she never received any comfort from her parents. John was too indifferent and Noelle had been too self absorbed.

There was still a part of Sarah that remained the lost, uncertain little girl begging for someone to give her comfort, love and affection.

Three things the McGee siblings never got from their _so-called parents_.

With a strangled sob, Sarah latched onto Amanda, not unlike a lost child.

As she sobbed, Sarah could feel her walls collapsing. Amanda patiently rode out the storm and rocked her back and forth. She stroked her long hair and whispered quiet assurances into her ear.

Finally, Sarah was receiving the support she never got as a child.

Without meaning to, Sarah cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Vance needed a few minutes to collect himself before he drove back to NCIS headquarters. He desperately required time to reassemble his mask.

No wonder Kort was so spooked.

The CIA agent was going underground.

Who knew that investigating Tim's first kidnapping would open a complicated can of worms? Vance couldn't help feeling he was in way over his head. This shit went deeper than he knew.

It had to be bad if _Kort_, of all people, was practically pissing in his pants.

And it _was_ that bad.

Vance nearly lost his lunch as he'd perused the file of the man Kort feared so much. Not only was the man dangerous, he was a sick fuck in every sense of the word.

This made Vance doubt his stratagem of keeping Gibbs out of the loop.

Who knew that Tim had such a complicated past?

Vance didn't know the particulars of what Tim suffered in the past. However, he agreed with Kort that Tim had been kidnapped when he was only seven years old.

There was no information beyond Tim's seventh birthday.

Until six months later.

This meant there was a six month gap in which there was was no information to speak of. There was no concrete evidence the man was connected.

But the man was seen in the general area, not far from Tim's house.

And the government quietly paid him off to "disappear", around the same time Tim had been rescued.

Vance had bitten off more than he could chew.

But he was still reluctant to bring in Team Gibbs.

Gibbs' methods would inevitably attract the attention of the powers that be. The government went to great lengths to cover this up. They definitely wouldn't appreciate someone poking into its affairs.

Kort admitted there was circumstantial evidence that powerful people were involved in the cover up.

This meant Vance had to be doubly careful.

Fortunately, Vance had his own contacts.

He was (reluctantly) teaming up with Kort to solve the mystery. But only a naïve _moron_ trusted the man with a thousand agendas. Vance wanted his own insurance policy.

Which meant bringing in a third party.

Decision made, Vance speed-dialed a former agent from when NCIS was only known as NIS back in the day. "Cooper? Yeah, it's me. I hate to do this, but I'm calling in that marker you owe me." He paused. "Yeah, it's that bad." Vance scowled. "Don't you give me that shit! I ain't in the mood! Just get your sorry ass back to DC before I haul you in myself! And I'm not above kicking you in the ass from Phoenix to DC, every step of the way, to get you to move!"

* * *

_Tim woke up screaming._

_He didn't want the bad man to hurt him again!_

_When Tim opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar white room, he began to panic. He thought there was going to be another painful "session"._

_His kidnapper wasn't above having "sessions" in different rooms._

_Tim was startled when he got a firm, painful backhand for his trouble._

_"Shut up!" Noelle snarled. "You're a McGee, not a weak, pathetic little girl. At least try to _act_ like one, you stupid little shitstain!"_

_Tim was confused._

_Was he dreaming?_

_Was his mother really with him or was he just imagining things? It was possible as the bad man and his assistant kept on sticking him with needles. Then Tim would have bad dreams and it was hard to determine whether he was awake or not._

_Noelle gave him another backhand._

_"My God, you're so stupid." Noelle said disdainfully. "You've been rescued a few days ago. The doctors are going to examine you. Soon, other members of the family will be arriving. I had to cancel a luncheon I was going to host for the wives of very important naval officers. I did you a huge favor coming to the hospital, you pathetic piece of shit! If you embarrass me in _any_ way, I'll make you sorry as soon as we get home!"_

Tim groaned as he woke up.

The bastard had drugged him again.

As he gradually took in his surroundings, he found he was still in the same room with tin walls. He couldn't stop shivering, which aggravated his injuries.

He was going to get pneumonia at this rate.

Not that his kidnapper seemed to care.

For Tim, he hated it when he got drugged or fell asleep against his will. He would get horrific flashbacks of his first kidnapping. Or of what he and Sarah endured during their so-called childhood.

Noelle never seemed to like him.

In fact, she _despised_ him with a passion.

Tim had always been an observant child. He had to be as Noelle would strike him without warning whenever the mood struck her. She would glare at him with hatred shining in her eyes. It was eerie since her eyes were like his own.

Like John, she hated to be embarrassed in front of other people.

And she was ashamed of his lack of physical prowess and his pudginess.

Tim was treated as a mark of great shame. He wasn't good at athletics. He got seasick and he had several allergies. It was far too easy for older kids to bully him as he was never taught how to defend himself.

Which was why he turned to food, books and computers for comfort.

His father refused to let him see a psychologist.

For John, this would make people think Tim was a crazy person. And John was all about his _precious image_ and his equally _precious reputation_.

It wasn't until Tim got to MIT that he could start seeing a therapist.

He had a boatload of issues to this day.

Tim suppressed a sigh. He never understood why his mother hated him so, or why his father treated him with cold indifference. Nothing he did was ever good enough.

When he got rescued, Noelle didn't show an ounce of relief.

Instead, it was more like she _resented_ the fact that he was still alive.

For years, Tim faced constant criticism from his parents and the bulk of his relatives. To them, he was never a "true" McGee. He wasn't athletic enough, strong enough or dominate enough. They wanted an Alpha male that proudly served in the Navy.

Not a pudgy computer genius who wanted to become a naval cop.

It didn't help that Tim had an annoying stutter and low self esteem.

For years, Tim tried to hold onto himself. To ignore their constant harping and criticism and forge his own way in life. Now, as he stood dangling helplessly in his boxers in a cold room, Tim knew he had to face facts. As much as he hated to admit it, there was some measure of truth in what his family had been saying over the years.

He was weak.

If he'd been strong enough, his kidnapper wouldn't have taken him so easily.

Something in Tim seemed to snap as time went on. Between the flashbacks, his torture and his kidnapper's constant insults, Tim could feel his self esteem decreasing.

As time passed, Tim knew he had to change.

No more, he vowed.

He knew he had to get stronger so this bullshit wouldn't happen again. When he was rescued, he was going to teach that shithead a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.

He said _when_, not _if_.

Tim wasn't going to consider the alternative.

Tim knew he was changing. He didn't care. He was sick and tired of being tormented. Of being mocked. Of being looked down upon with smug, arrogantly superior eyes.

He was going to take great pleasure in wiping that smug smirk off his face.

He didn't care if it was the last thing he ever did. That asshole was going down!

* * *

So, people were trying to track him down, eh?

The grin threatened to split his face.

Truth be told, he was _bored_. The federal government agreed to leave him alone, but _only_ if he remained a good little boy. But he didn't _want_ to remain a good little boy.

It'd been so long since he was allowed to play.

Since he had new prey.

For a brief moment, he considered staying where he was. It only took him a fraction of a second to dismiss the idea. It'd been so long since he could let his true nature rise to the surface.

Finally, at long last, he had time to _play_!


	17. Chapter 17

Tobias Fornell rubbed tiredly at his forehead.

They weren't making any progress as far their investigation was concerned.

All they knew was that someone snuck into NCIS' lab, poured water all over the computers and equipment and planted a bomb into McGee's car. Fornell and Sacks went over the destroyed lab with a fine-toothed comb after the arson investigators gave them the all clear.

They also explored what was left of the garage and McGee's car.

Just for added insurance, Ruby and Danielle accompanied them. After all, they might have seen something the FBI agents missed.

Unfortunately, all the evidence had been destroyed.

The surveillance cameras were useless.

Whoever did this was obviously a computer expert. The tapes were on a loop. They showed the lab and the garage as normal, with nothing out of the ordinary happening.

They still didn't know how the perpetrator managed to infiltrate NCIS.

There were no witnesses.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of people who had access to the lab. It didn't help they didn't bother to secure the lab OR the garage before they left for their four-hour hiatus.

Fornell had his agents investigating the backgrounds of NCIS' employees.

So far, it was slow-going and no one stood out in any way.

Manuel Balboa wasn't having any luck either. They were digging into McGee's past to see if he had any enemies. They couldn't do anything else as they didn't even know where he'd been kidnapped. Much less when. So far, they could only assume he was taken the day the team began their leave.

They were also investigating DiNozzo's past. The former cop had lots of enemies and there might be someone who was completely obsessed with him.

So far, they were running into dead ends.

Sacks wasn't having any luck in tracking down McGee's cell phone.

Even when Ruby and Danielle chipped in, McGee's cell phone remained annoyingly elusive. They'd already canvassed McGee's apartment building, just to be thorough.

But no one had seen or heard anything unusual.

And that went double for the denizens of NCIS.

The only real clue they had was that the perp was a computer expert. Unfortunately, there were a lot of employees who were computer experts. The denizens of CCU were prime examples.

Needless to say, Fornell was frustrated.

Finding McGee was both a matter of professional pride and alleviating his worries on a personal level. Fornell had a soft spot for the members of Team Gibbs.

Especially McGee.

Fornell and Balboa were also flabbergasted by the reactions of McGee's family. The only ones who seemed worried were Sarah McGee and Penelope Langston. John McGee was at Bethesda, suffering from terminal cancer. But he didn't seem unduly concerned about his son's status. He might as well be talking about the weather for all the emotion and concern he showed. Noelle McGee-Cartwright was equally uncooperative.

She had the nerve to be annoyed with them for interrupting her _honeymoon_.

The damn bitch wasn't even bothering to come to DC!

Fornell dispatched a couple of agents to investigate their backgrounds. Their blatant lack of concern for McGee's wellbeing was raising a lot of red flags. While Fornell didn't have Gibbs' gut, he was an experienced FBI agent.

Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

And Fornell intended to find out why.

* * *

Gibbs' mind was racing after he'd visited Ducky in Autopsy.

He was reeling from what Zack Foster told him just a couple hours earlier.

Foster managed to get a high position in the State department. This was due to his status as a war hero during Operation Desert Storm. As a result, Foster had lots of political connections and access to important information. Information that your average joe couldn't get access to.

Which was why Gibbs contacted him.

But Foster learned more than he bargained for.

Gibbs was stunned to learn McGee had been kidnapped as a child. Foster wasn't able to unearth any specifics. But there was circumstantial evidence pointing to a cover up.

And that it was Admiral McGee who helped the federal government sweep everything underneath the proverbial rug. Foster promised he would continue to keep digging.

Gibbs didn't know whether he should be shocked or angry.

Why didn't McGee tell the team about this?

As soon as Gibbs thought up the question, he mentally kicked himself. Who in their right mind would reveal something so painful and traumatic? After all, it wasn't like Gibbs was eager to reveal to his team what happened to Shannon and Kelly.

Not to mention Gibbs had more mental demons that he never spoke of.

The same went for DiNozzo, Ziva and other current or former members of his team.

So much for his theory that McGee had a normal childhood. Gibbs suppressed a rude snort. It was like having a painful past was a prerequisite for joining his team.

Speaking of which, Foster managed to dig up information on McGee's parents.

While Admiral McGee was promoted, he'd also been transferred many times.

There was also inevitable scuttlebutt that would emerge about his family life. The rumors were viciously squashed before they could gain traction. So far, Foster wasn't able to find out what the rumors were about. Only that they pointed to something troubling occurring behind the scenes. That Admiral McGee didn't have the picture perfect family life. This was something the "good" admiral was desperate to portray.

Image was important to the man.

This didn't surprise Gibbs one bit.

He remembered meeting the man after one of his officers was murdered. Admiral McGee lambasted his son, calling him "weak" and "unmanly". John McGee wanted to keep his precious appointments instead of solving the murder. His naval ambitions came first. Gibbs recalled the brief exchange between father and son that managed to tell a troubling story in regards to their relationship.

_"Understandable, but I have someplace to be." Admiral McGee said._

_"I've been hearing that my whole life." McGee muttered._

Even then, there was a hint of bitterness in McGee's voice. Gibbs kicked himself for not realizing the truth sooner.

That McGee's past and family life was more complicated than he thought.

Noelle McGee wouldn't win any parenting prizes either.

She always flaunted her extra marital affairs. Noelle resented her status as a naval wife and never showed any interest in being a proper mother. Oh, she would _pretend_ in public. Like John, image was everything to her. But there were those who were perceptive enough to see through her act.

Noelle wasn't winning any points by refusing to come to DC.

It was more than obvious she wasn't worried about her son.

Gibbs tried to focus on solving Frost's murder. But Foster's revelations kept on intruding and interfering with his mental processes. Everything was so fucking complicated. Foster had to be extra careful so he wouldn't attract unwanted attention.

There were powerful people involved in the cover up.

And they had enough influence to make people "disappear" without a trace.

Gibbs' other contacts weren't having much luck, either. The only good news came from another former Marine, Ethan Kennedy, who worked for the IRS.

As a favor to Gibbs, he was repairing McGee's finances.

Gibbs was jolted from his thoughts when Bishop gestured for him to come to her desk. Suppressing a sigh, Gibbs put McGee's kidnapping on the backburner. For now, he had to focus on Frost's murder. He didn't want to tip off Vance.

But Gibbs vowed to find McGee.

No matter _what_ the cost.

* * *

Michael Cartwright was worried about his new wife.

Noelle was never the same after he'd fetched some wine.

The next day, she insisted they cut their honeymoon short and go home despite his protests. She refused to explain what was wrong. She only wanted to reach the safety of their home in the Palisades, an expensive community on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

Michael could easily afford a house there.

He owned and operated a successful financial firm.

Something was obviously wrong. Noelle wasn't the same passionate, fun-loving woman he knew. She refused to go out of the house. She was barely sleeping. There were dark circles under her eyes, she barely changed her outfits and her hair was unkempt.

This wasn't like Noelle, who was normally meticulous about her appearance.

Noelle loved partying and entertaining.

But she was ignoring her friends. She refused to return their calls and she didn't want to see anyone. Noelle would sit on the living room couch, staring at nothing. She insisted on maintaining a hold on her Colt .45.

She kept the curtains drawn.

She refused to keep more than a few lamps on.

She was smoking more often and there was a wild, paranoid look in her eyes. Michael repeatedly asked what was going on. But Noelle insisted everything was fine.

Even though it clearly wasn't.

He would find her muttering underneath her breath as she peered through the curtains or Venetian blinds. It was almost like Noelle felt she was being watched or followed. Which was ridiculous. Michael had no enemies to speak of.

And Noelle didn't either.

She always claimed her life was an open book.

Michael was on his way home from work. Noelle, who worked as a manager for the Los Angeles branch of Farmer's Insurance, hadn't reported to work in days. Michael was losing patience with Noelle. If this kept up, he was going to put his foot down.

He would insist that she see a doctor or a psychologist.

This wasn't healthy.

Michael pulled up the driveway of their large, Spanish-style home and turned off the car. He got out after grabbing his briefcase. Almost impatiently, he slammed the door shut and pressed the fob to lock up his new BMW convertible.

Then he jogged to the front door, ready to unlock it.

That was another odd habit Noelle picked up.

She insisted on locking all the doors and windows. So it was only natural that Michael grew alarmed when he found the front door open. All of a sudden, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. An eerie chill went up and down his spine.

Michael felt a sudden reluctance to enter the house.

It was all he could do to avoid turning tail and running away.

Gulping, Michael ignored his reticence and entered the house. It was eerily silent. The curtains were still drawn and none of the lights were on. "Noelle?"

There was no answer.

"Noelle? Noelle, are you here?"

Alarmed, Michael ran throughout the house, ignoring his briefcase as it fell to the hardwood floor with a clatter. He searched the rooms, repeatedly calling out Noelle's name.

There was no answer.

Finally, he found her in their bedroom.

She was on her side, fast asleep. Relieved, Michael approached his wife. "Noelle, honey? Time to wake up. I'm home." She didn't move. Michael felt his brow furrowing as he gently shook her. He was alarmed when she felt cold to the touch.

"Noelle? Noelle!"

He continued shaking her.

It was then that he registered a few things. First of all, she felt stiff and unyielding. Second, she wasn't waking up. Third, there was a dried pool of blood underneath her head-and that was due to the holes decorating her forehead.

* * *

_"Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed."_

I still knelt before the shrine.

I had my hands raised, beseeching my god to receive my prayer.

_"Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side to light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen_._"_

This was a ritual I performed every night.

Especially since I kidnapped Tiny Tim.

My Lord God had to be aware of my acts of love, worship and devotion. Surely He would see the holy works I was committing in His name. That was how religious devotion worked. You had to punish the lesser infidels for their temerity.

I closed my eyes tightly as I began praying in earnest.

_"O my God, at the end of this day I thank you most heartily for all the graces I have received from you. I am sorry that I have not made a better use of them. I am sorry for all the sins I have committed against you. Forgive me, O my God, and graciously protect me this night_._"_

A wave of discontentment washed over me.

I knew I'd offended my Lord God.

Obviously, I didn't do enough to show my devotion and worship. This had to be rectified right away. Or I would never receive salvation when the time came for me to die. This was Tiny Tim's fault. He always found a way to ruin things. I vowed right then and there to redouble my efforts to make him pay for his heresy.

_"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life."_

I knew that my God was unhappy with me.

Why else would I feel lower than dirt?

Suddenly feeling unworthy, I pressed my hands together and managed a quick bow. Then I got hastily to my feet and carefully backed out of the room. I never dared turn my back on my Lord God. That was an act of sacrilege, blasphemy and arrogance. I was never to act like I was above Him.

Never.

I hung up my hood and cloak once more.

I entered another secret room and checked on my surveillance cameras. Fortunately, Tiny Tim was out cold again. Which gave me more time to prepare my next act of devotion. For once, Tiny Tim was going to do something right in his miserable life.

He was going to help me gain absolution.


	18. Chapter 18

_Despite what was about to happen, Ducky was as cheerful as ever._

_He was clad in his customary hospital scrubs with a white mask over his face._

_Gibbs was standing nearby. As usual, his expression was unreadable and he had his arms crossed over his chest._

_Tim was on the other side._

_For once, the entire team was present. DiNozzo had a slight smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Ziva was in her "Mossad" mode as her expression was even more stoic than Gibbs'._

_"...is fascinating." Ducky was saying. "You rarely get a case like this." He had a scalpel in his hand as he perused the body gracing the Autopsy table. "Why, I haven't seen something like this since my early days as a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps. In fact-"_

_As usual, Gibbs looked annoyed because Ducky tended to ramble. He opened his mouth to say: "Move it along, Duck!"_

_"Ahem." Ducky cleared his throat. "Sorry about that."_

_"What's the cause of death?" Gibbs asked._

_Ducky opened his mouth to answer. For some reason, there was a sudden gust of wind, drowning out what he was saying. Tim strained his ears, but he couldn't hear a thing. He glanced around at the others. Gibbs, DiNozzo and Ziva were hearing Ducky just fine. The goodnatured Scotsman kept on talking. Tim began to ask Ducky to speak louder._

_Then he felt another gust of wind._

_Why did it feel cold in Autopsy? Did NCIS turn up the air conditioning?_

_Or did Palmer open one of the shelves used to house bodies?_

_For some reason, the others weren't even affected by the cold._

With a gasp, Tim woke up. It took a while for him to get his bearings. Fortunately, he was alone. There was no sign of his kidnapper anywhere in the room.

Tim glanced around as much as he was able.

He was in a different room.

While the walls were flimsy, they weren't made out of tin. They were made of a material he couldn't identify. The winds were howling and it was all he could do to avoid shivering. He was still dangling like a punching bag. However, there was something different in this room:

A television, complete with an old-fashioned VCR.

Tim had a bad feeling.

He also had a feeling he was being watched. A feeling that was confirmed when the television turned on by itself without warning. It was all Tim could do to avoid gaping like an idiot.

The video featured his team.

And they _weren't_ investigating his kidnapping.

How could he tell? It wasn't difficult to figure out. Ducky and Palmer were checking the liver temperature of some unknown petty officer. Gibbs was questioning a witness while DiNozzo and Bishop took pictures and collected evidence. It was like this was just another ordinary day on the job!

There was no sign they were worried about him at all!

Tim didn't know what to think, much less feel.

He could feel his stomach clench and twist itself into little knots. He lost count of the number of times in the past Gibbs would bend over backwards to rescue Kate, DiNozzo and Ziva when they were in trouble. Gibbs also raced out of the bullpen like a bat out of hell to rescue Abby when he sensed Harper Dearing's bomb was about to go off.

Gibbs always acted like an overprotective father when a member of his team was in trouble. So why was he acting like he didn't give a shit now that Tim himself was in danger?

It didn't make any sense.

Didn't they care at all?

Annoyingly, he could feel tears forming around the corner of his eyes. With an effort, he suppressed them as best he could. He knew the bastard was watching.

And he refused to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

Slowly, gradually, clarity and common sense returned to him.

Vance never liked it when an agent took a case too personally. Even Gibbs had a rule against it. So it was possible Vance wanted Team Gibbs off the case.

Due to a conflict of interest.

Maybe a different team was investigating his kidnapping.

Contrary to what his family and his bastard kidnapper thought, Tim wasn't stupid. He'd been a federal agent for years and surely he'd learned _something_ on the job. This was obviously an attempt by his tormentor to bring down his morale and self esteem.

To make him think his team didn't care.

So he resolved to ignore the tape even when it kept playing on a loop.

Despite Tim's confident thoughts, a seed of doubt had been planted in the back of his mind. For the first time in years, Tim's faith in his boss had been shaken.

* * *

Tiny Tim needed to work on his poker face, I mused.

I happily munched on a bunch of popcorn as I watched the show.

I leaned back into my chair, crossed my legs and propped my feet onto my desk as I turned on the TV and played the tape. I couldn't wait to see Tiny Tim's reaction.

This was going to be great!

I couldn't wait to see him wriggle like a worm on a hook.

At first, it happened just as I planned. Despite how much he tried to hide it, Tiny Tim was horrified to see his colleagues going about their daily business.

In other words, it was as if he hadn't been kidnapped.

I smirked sadistically at his expression.

Tiny Tim had always been easy to read. I could tell he was hurt that his teammates didn't care about his plight. Which was just the way it should be.

The strong shouldn't care about the weak.

I'm a firm believer in Darwinism.

My smirk widened as I could tell he was about to cry. That's right, Tiny Tim. Cry like the pathetic little pussy you are! I couldn't wait to watch the waterworks.

I leaned forward in anticipation.

I shoved another handful of popcorn into my mouth.

Then, an epiphany seemed to hit him. Instead of crying, Tiny Tim began to calm down. My smirk became strained around the edges. This wasn't someone who was about to break down. Instead, my little tape seemed to have the opposite effect.

Tiny Tim's expression hardened.

To my disgust, he seemed to straighten with determination.

I curled my upper lip. I let out a loud yell of rage as I threw the porcelain bowl at the far wall. I ignored the sounds of pottery shards breaking and littering the floor. Looks like I would have to go with Plan B, I mused.

Unfortunately, I still needed time to set things up.

Looks like I would have to film more of Team Gibbs.

I stomped out of the room, uncaring as I stepped on pieces of popcorn and porcelain shards. At least it wouldn't be all bad, I mused, determined to look on the bright side of things. If I remember right, my Lord God took a couple of sleeping pills.

Otherwise, he would've been more alert when I visited Him.

This meant He was still out cold! Time for another trip to His apartment!

Feeling strong and confident once more, I headed into another room so I could change into another disguise. As much I wanted my Lord God to know who I am, I knew the time wasn't right. I had to remind myself that it would be worth the wait.

I whistled the Andy Griffith theme song as I got ready.

* * *

Kort had never felt so scared in his life.

Not even when he was a rookie agent.

He had one hand on his gun-which he'd shoved into his pocket-as he entered the rundown diner. While he didn't want to eat, Kort knew he needed the energy.

At least the diner was far off the beaten track.

Before he went underground, he carefully disguised himself.

Thanks to years of being a CIA agent, Kort had dozens of aliases to choose from. He had more than enough cash to purchase a rusty looking car that must have been blue once upon a time. Kort didn't want to leave behind a paper trail.

So that meant not buying anything from a car dealership.

And renting was a _big_ no no.

Despite his precautions, Kort couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. He knew it wasn't a case of paranoia. He refused to dismiss it as being part of an overactive imagination. Not when his life was on the line.

Kort refused to apologize for having a high sense of self preservation.

It was part of what kept him alive over the years.

Kort chose a booth far in the back so he wasn't visible from the doorway. But thanks to the location, he could see who was coming and going.

He didn't order anything fancy.

Just some coffee and a turkey sandwich.

Kort rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He knew he looked like shit. He couldn't bring himself to care. This was easily the most fucked up case he'd ever dealt with.

And that was saying a lot, considering his profession.

At least he was still in touch with his contacts.

Kort was meeting one of his informants in a small town in North Carolina. He was claiming he had a promising lead. Unlike some of his contacts, Kort could actually trust this man. He knew better than to try and pull a fast one.

Kort jumped in his seat and nearly brought out his gun when he heard a loud snap.

Belatedly, he remembered his waitress was chewing on some gum.

Kort forced himself to eat his sandwich even though it tasted about as appetizing as garbage. He took the coffee black as he needed the caffeine in order to stay awake.

He couldn't afford to fall asleep.

When he was done, Kort tossed some money onto the table and walked out the door.

He slid behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. Unaware he was being watched. The car was well hidden with tinted windows. The driver slowly lowered a pair of binoculars. He didn't care to know why he was being paid to follow this man.

Only that he was being paid a large amount to keep tabs on his whereabouts.

When his quarry drove away, the man whipped out his cell phone and speed-dialed his employer. After a brief conversation, he turned on his car and drove off in pursuit.

* * *

"Well?"

"It's done."

Good, he thought as he lit up a Cuban cigar.

"And the..._other_ matter?"

"I'm afraid he got away, sir."

There was a long silence.

"He got away?" He said coldly. He could almost feel the other man cringing in fear. His underling knew very well he didn't tolerate failure. This was unacceptable.

"Yes, sir."

He didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"I'm going to give you one last chance." He said finally. "If you fail, I'm going to find someone who _won't_ disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-y-y-es, s-si-sir."

He hung up, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

It wasn't like his underling to fail.

At least Noelle had been taken care of, he mused, exhaling a bunch of smoke. He should have disposed of her a long time ago. That had been a mistake on his part.

As he (stupidly) thought the past would remain buried.

And he hated loose ends.

There was no way he could have trusted Noelle to keep her mouth shut. Sooner or later, she was bound to slip. Just as she did with her little cunt of a daughter.

It was just a matter of time before she let something slip to the feds.

He inhaled.

His underling better not fail this time. He couldn't afford to have such liabilities running around. He refused to leave anything to chance. He wasn't lying when he threatened to leave the job to someone else. He wasn't the type to bluff.

As his underling well knew.

He exhaled.

At least John didn't know anything. It was such a pity, seeing such a strong man waste away into nothing thanks to cancer. The weakling resting in that bed was a bad caricature of what he used to be. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the dying man was a pod person.

Maybe he should do John a favor and put him out of his misery. It couldn't be good, suffering and wasting away. Waiting for the cancer to eventually take your life.

It was an insult for a man like John McGee.

He'd be doing the other man a kindness. After all, what are friends for?


	19. Chapter 19

The dulcet tones of Magnum PI's theme song filled the air.

DiNozzo groaned as he reluctantly left Morpheus' embrace.

It took a bit for him to wake up. DiNozzo felt stiff and uncomfortable as he opened his eyes. He hissed as the light pierced his eyes. He had to blink a few times to clear the dark spots from his vision. DiNozzo looked around when his vision cleared.

He realized he was on his stomach.

He must've passed out on the couch.

Even though he never consumed any alcohol, DiNozzo felt like he was nursing a massive hangover. He only got a temporary relief when the ringtone stopped for a few seconds. DiNozzo groaned when it started up again. He groped for it blindly until his fingers brushed up against it on the carpet. DiNozzo (reluctantly) brought the phone to his ear.

"Unless it's an insanely hot woman, I'm hanging up." DiNozzo said.

"DiNozzo." Gibbs said flatly. "What time is it?"

"It's...uh..." DiNozzo glanced blearily at his watch and paled. It was 10 a.m.

"You get your sorry ass back to NCIS in thirty minutes." Gibbs warned. "Or you're gonna be pounding the pavement looking for another job. You got me, DiNozzo?"

"Got it, Boss!" DiNozzo said, jumping to his feet.

Not surprisingly, Gibbs hung up without acknowledging DiNozzo's statement. Politeness was never Gibbs' strong suit. DiNozzo ran to his bathroom. He took a five minute shower. He quickly brushed his teeth, combed his hair and got dressed. DiNozzo was thankful no one was around to see him as he ran throughout his apartment like a headless chicken. DiNozzo raced to the kitchen and shoved a breakfast bar down his throat.

Then he carefully holstered his gun and shoved his ID and wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. On his way out the door, he paused.

Something...didn't feel right.

All of a sudden, he felt violated.

DiNozzo felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He made a quick run through his apartment. Nothing was out of place. But he was a seasoned former cop and federal agent. He was never one to ignore his instincts and he knew something was wrong.

DiNozzo felt the sudden urge to take another shower.

There was something else.

There was an odd scent filling the air. A scent that was familiar for some reason. Unfortunately, DiNozzo couldn't investigate further because his cell phone rang again. DiNozzo glanced at the viewscreen. Sure enough, Gibbs' number was on the screen.

He grabbed his keys and raced out the door, quickly locking the door behind him.

He would have to investigate later.

* * *

Sarah was in a daze.

She sat in her chair, staring at the space in front of her.

There was a glazed expression on her face and it seemed like nothing would snap her out of her funk. Amanda gave up after shaking Sarah's shoulders several times in a futile attempt to snap her out of it. Admittedly, Amanda couldn't blame her.

Sarah had just received shocking news.

First, she heard from Penny's primary surgeon, Pamela Lewis.

Penny was finally in a more stable condition. The ER staff felt confident enough to transfer her to the instensive care unit. Unfortunately, the good news ended there.

The accident made Penny partially paralyzed from the waist down.

She was also in a coma.

The doctors weren't certain she would ever wake up. She received a very nasty blow to the head during the crash. Dr. Lewis promised Sarah she would tell her when she was allowed to visit her grandmother.

Unfortunately, the bad news kept coming.

Dr. Lewis had just left the waiting room when Sarah's cell phone rang.

The call came from a detective who worked for the Los Angeles Police Department. His name was Martin Deeks. Sarah was stunned to learn her mother was murdered yesterday.

Deeks kept on talking, but Sarah never registered what else he was saying.

Her cell phone fell from her slackened fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

Suppressing a sigh, Amanda picked up the phone. Fortunately, the casing was made out of a sturdy material and Sarah's phone didn't suffer any damage. She quickly introduced herself and explained that Sarah had gone into shock. Deeks understood and promised he would call later on.

Amanda hung up and resigned herself to waiting for Sarah to snap out of her shock. She felt like she'd absorbed Sarah's nervous energy as she couldn't sit still.

So she started to pace.

Amanda felt incredibly guilty.

She should've known better than to assume Tim was having an affair. He was as loyal as the day was long. It wasn't in his character to betray someone like that. What did that say about her? Why didn't she sense something was wrong when he wasn't returning her calls? Now that she thought about it, she felt incredibly stupid for assuming Tim wasn't calling her back on purpose. Tim always made it a point to return calls and check his phone messages. It was ingrained in his character to be polite.

Tim always claimed he was raised to be a gentleman.

She felt sick to her stomach.

While she was giving lectures at Cambridge University-in between sight seeing and fuming at Tim-her boyfriend was being beaten and tortured. And she'd been oblivious. She should've sensed he was in danger.

"I'm so sorry, Tim." Amanda muttered under her breath. "I never should've doubted you."

Amanda was jolted from her thoughts when Dr. Lewis opened the door. Amanda went to Sarah and gave her a hard shake. This was enough to jolt her out of her reverie.

"Sarah?" Dr. Lewis tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it came out as more of a grimace instead. It was apparent Dr. Lewis wasn't used to smiling. Not surprising, really, given her rather stern demeanor. "You can visit your grandmother now."

* * *

"Oh Cole!" Krissy's eyes welled with tears. "It's beautiful!"

Cole tried not to smile smugly as Krissy raved over the necklace.

He felt no guilt in using the necklace for his own benefit. Jones had it coming after rutting with the pigs yet again. The farm hands always had to clean up after the sick little bastard. Jones had the habit of disrobing inside the hogpen before he had his way with the pigs.

Cole hadn't been surprised to see the necklace either.

Jones also had sticky fingers.

He would raid other farmhouses and stores. He would help himself to five-finger discounts, so to speak. Occasionally, Native American tribes would sell jewelry by the roadside. Jones would be unable to help himself and he'd "relieve" the stalls of their burden.

So Cole assumed that was how Jones got the necklace.

It'd been a bitch to clean.

But it was worth it after seeing the look on Krissy's face. Cole really wanted his relationship to work. Krissy was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Feh.

Try proving that to her father.

Her father felt that Cole wasn't good enough for her. It didn't help that Krissy had an excellent job with the federal government while Cole was a lowly farmhand.

But Cole had ambitions.

He didn't intend to spend the rest of his life cleaning up after Jones.

"Cole, I love it!" Krissy turned around and lifted her hair so he could fasten the necklace. "I can't wait to show my family!" She gave him a quick kiss. "I'll see you later!"

Cole was content as he watched her drive away.

His relationship with Krissy was going swimmingly.

Unfortunately, his good mood didn't last. When he returned to the farm, a smug Frank Gordon told him it was his turn to give the sheep a bath. Apparently, Jones had struck again!

* * *

Max was an experienced "cleaner".

He never failed an assignment for his employer.

Whenever he disposed of someone, he felt nothing. To him, they were nothing but cardboard cutouts. He deliberately made sure he knew nothing of their histories. He didn't want them "fleshed out", so to speak. Max didn't want to humanize his victims.

It made it easier to get rid of them.

Max knew better than to..._disappoint_ his boss.

His employer was a cold, unforgiving and ruthless man. Only a fool got on his bad side. So it wasn't surprising that Max made it a point to succeed in all his assignments.

He wasn't a man that frightened easily.

And for good reason.

Max could shoot anything at fifty paces. He was a black belt in Tae Kwan Do and Kung Fu. He was an experienced sniper who once worked for the U.S. Army.

Death was as familiar to him as breathing.

Out of necessity, he adopted a cold facade and suppressed his emotions as best he could. Like his employer, he believed that displaying emotion of any kind was a weakness. A weakness they couldn't afford in their line of work.

Unfortunately, there were times when Max was reminded of the fact that he was human.

This was one of those times.

This case was unique as he wasn't too proud to admit he was afraid.

This man was easily the most dangerous target he ever had to hunt. He wasn't a person to underestimate. Which was partly how he was able to escape. Max got overly confident. As a result, he got careless. The target was made aware of his presence.

He disappeared underground and no one has seen him since.

But Max couldn't afford to give up.

Fortunately, Max had contacts of his own. One of his informants came through. Max learned his target was hiding in a small town in West Virginia. When he heard this, Max felt like kicking himself for not thinking of this earlier. He knew his target had family in West Virginia.

So it would make sense he would travel there.

Max made sure to disguise himself as he traveled to the small town of Accoville.

His first stop was an isolated farm deep in the countryside. Max considered himself a stealthy man. Unfortunately, to his target, he was about as quiet as a bull in a china shop.

When Max carefully tiptoed around a barn with peeling red paint, he failed to sense that someone was slowly approaching from behind.

He let out a grunt when something sharp hit him on the back of his head.

Max fell to the ground with a soft thud as everything went black.

His attacker clapped his hands with glee. "Maxie, Maxie, Maxie! You should've known better than to come here!" He wagged his finger, as if he was chiding a misbehaving child. "Too boring! Too predictable! You've gotten sloppy, Maxie Old Boy!" He hated it when his prey got sloppy. It was a sin in his eyes. This meant the prey wasn't taking the game seriously. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be punished!"

Still, he was so _excited_!

It'd been so long since someone had come out to play.

The man giggled like a hyena as he grabbed Max and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Showing he was stronger than he looked, he skipped to his waiting truck. He paused as he reached his uncle, who lay slumped against the other side of the barn. He was staring at the space in front of him with empty eyes. Blood leaked from a massive hole in his head. The source came from a semi-large rock that had been carelessly tossed a few feet away. He gave his uncle a sneer and wagged his finger.

"Naughty, naughty Uncle! I know it was you! I know you interfered and took my favorite toy away from me! I told you! You would get punished! All bad boys must be punished!" He giggled again like a hyena and raced to his truck. He tossed Max into the back. He carefully covered his unconscious form with tarp and weighted it down with rocks. While Max wasn't his ultimate toy, he would do until the next one came along.

His insane cackling filled the air as he slid behind the wheel and drove off.


	20. Chapter 20

Gibbs was just putting down his phone when he felt a vicious pain from the back of his head. All of a sudden, the entire bullpen went silent. Bishop's pen hit her desk with a clatter. One agent had a jelly donut halfway to his mouth. He didn't notice as he accidentally squirted jelly all over his paperwork.

Slowly, Gibbs turned around.

The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

Somehow, Gibbs wasn't surprised to see the culprit was Ducky. Normally a calm and patient man, Ducky looked ready to kill as he glared blue sparks at Gibbs.

It felt like a standoff was going down.

All you needed was the requisite Western town and tumbleweeds rolling by.

The other agents found excuses to be elsewhere. None of them wanted to be around when Gibbs (inevitably) exploded. Poor Bishop was stuck as she knew her boss would give her hell if she _dared_ to desert her post.

In her head, Bishop could hear the main theme from the old Western, "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly". Soon, the bullpen was empty. Gibbs slowly rose to his feet.

He walked until he was practically nose to nose with Ducky.

To give Ducky credit, he managed to stay his ground. He didn't even flinch as he glared right back at the former Marine. Finally, Gibbs shattered the silence.

"Bishop, go do a coffee run." Gibbs ordered. Bishop didn't need to be told twice. She ran out of the bullpen as if the hounds of hell were after her. Once she was gone, Gibbs resumed speaking. "What the HELL was that about, Ducky?"

"I was trying to knock some sense into you, Jethro." Ducky said.

"What?" Gibbs asked angrily.

"Don't you care about your team?" Ducky crossed his arms over his chest.

"What kind of bullshit question is that!?" Gibbs yelled.

"I'm surprised the fact that Anthony hasn't answered his cell phone until now didn't cause alarm bells to ring in your head." Ducky said. "Remember one of your rules? Never be unreachable? What if something had happened to him? What if the same madman who is doing God knows what to Timothy, managed to get the drop on Anthony?"

"..." Gibbs flinched. He didn't know what to say to that as, admittedly enough, Ducky had a point.

"Now is not the time to be throwing empty threats around." Ducky said.

"Empty threats?" Gibbs echoed, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Both of us know very well you cannot fire Anthony." Ducky was unfazed. "Only Director Vance has that authority. We must stick together, Jethro. We cannot help Timothy if we allow our anxiety and anger to drive us apart."

"I know." Gibbs said. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I'll talk to DiNozzo once he gets here."

"That's all I ask." Ducky said. He patted Gibbs on the shoulder and headed for the elevator. Gibbs ran a hand over his face as he sat down at his desk. Ducky was right. He couldn't let his anger and frustration over the situation divide his team.

It was just difficult as he had a shitty morning thus far.

Vance decided the team needed some help to solve Frost's murder.

He assigned them one of the geeks from CCU. Dirk Collins was the epitome of every nerd stereotype in existence. He was extremely pale, as if he never saw the sun. He wore a Flash T-shirt as he was a big fan of the show, the "Big Bang Theory". He had greasy brown hair, acne-ridden skin and watery blue eyes that were magnified by huge coke-bottle glasses.

Collins didn't know how to speak in layman's terms.

Only McGee and Abby would've been able to translate what he was saying.

To Gibbs, who was a major technophobe, Collins might as well have been speaking Klingon. It was a headache trying to talk to the guy. At least he finally managed to get Frost's phone and financial records.

But Gibbs' inner gut warned that Collins would continue to be a major pain in the ass. Unfortunately, Collins wasn't his only problem.

His contacts didn't discover anything new.

For some reason, Fornell, Balboa and their task force members were heading for LA. No matter how Gibbs poked and prodded, both men refused to state the reason _why_.

Gibbs already contacted G. Callen, the Special Agent in Charge for NCIS' Office of Special Projects, which was based in Los Angeles. Unfortunately, Callen was as tight-lipped as Fornell and Balboa.

It was bad enough that DiNozzo didn't arrive on time and refused to answer his phone. Gibbs had to deal with the walking, arrogant headache that was Jordan Kowalski:

FLASHBACK

_Gibbs emerged from the elevator, coffee cup in hand, when he spotted someone lingering around McGee's desk. To his eternal annoyance, it was Jordan Kowalski._

_Kowalski was an ambitious probationary officer who only managed to get into NCIS due to his father's political connections. Since the little shit was the son of a senator, he thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted._

_It was no secret he coveted a spot on the top MCRT team._

_Unfortunately for him, he didn't have any skills to justify his arrogance._

_His team leader, Hannah LaMont, frequently complained to Vance about Kowalski's hotheaded nature and reckless antics. Sometimes, they lost their suspects thanks to his impulsiveness._

_His one and only shot at undercover work ended in disaster as his acting skills sucked. He blew the entire operation and the suspect was able to get away._

_Kowalski wasn't above disparaging other agents and probies._

_He had a particularly low opinion of McGee._

_In his opinion, McGee was a pathetic computer geek that had no business being an agent. Kowalski felt McGee belonged with the other members of CCU. While he didn't bully McGee directly-he (rightfully) feared Gibbs' wrath-he wasn't above talking about him behind his back._

_Kowalski strutted around NCIS as if he owned the joint._

_He also had a bunch of mindless cronies who heeded his words as if they were gospel. They were mindless yes men in every sense of the word._

_Kowalski was bragging to Harlan Ross, his toady and second in command. "...put my favorite Gisele Bundchen figurine right here." He pointed to the middle of McGee's desk. "Then I'll put my favorite Pamela Anderson picture right here. After all, I'm gonna need some _motivation_ to solve the crime." He smacked his lips. "Even though she's old, she's still hot. And she's got a huge pair of-" He didn't get to finish his sentence._

_Gibbs had steathily put down his coffee cup and crept up behind Kowalski._

_The spoiled brat was startled when someone grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around. Kowalski was ready to give the bastard who dared to touch him a piece of his mind when he recognized Gibbs. A whimper escaped his lips as Gibbs stepped closer until they were practically nose to nose. A foul stench filled the air as Kowalski lost control of his bowels._

_"What the HELL do you think you're doing, Kowalski?" Gibbs demanded._

_"I-I-I'm ge-gett-ing m-my-my- Kowalski stammered._

_"Spit it out!" Gibbs snapped._

_"I'mgettingmynewdeskready!" Kowalski said in a rush._

_"What?" Gibbs asked._

_"I'm getting my new desk ready." Kowalski said. While his voice rose in pitch, at least he managed to utter a complete sentence._

_"Your new desk?" Gibbs looked ready to kill._

_"I'm taking McGee's spot." Kowalski blustered._

_"Since when?" Gibbs spat._

_"Come on Gibbs, you need me!" Kowalski exclaimed. "I'm a far better agent than McGeek could ever hope to be. Just look at how he let himself get kidnapped. This proves he's a pathetic little shit who shouldn't even be an agent. It's his own fault for being so weak. He's always making NCIS look bad. We don't need him. You need someone who's tough and competent." He spread his arms. "Well, here I am!"_

_Gibbs didn't react in a manner anyone expected._

_Instead of anger or acceptance of Kowalski's words, he laughed incredulously._

_Before Kowalski could retort, Gibbs shoved him against the wall and pressed his shoulders into place. Kowalski lost whatever (misplaced) arrogance he had left._

_"Now you listen to me, you little shit." Gibbs hissed. "I wouldn't accept you as a member of my team if you were the only other person left at NCIS. I am NEVER replacing McGee. He's _earned_ a spot on my team. If I EVER see you snooping about McGee's desk or hear of you giving him a hard time, I'm going to beat you up so bad, you'll be shitting through your mouth! Do I make myself absolutely _clear_, Kowalski?"_

_Kowalski nodded quickly._

_"Good." Gibbs let go. "Now get out of my sight."_

_Kowalski scurried away with his tail between his legs. Most of his entourage followed in his wake. The only probie who remained behind was the "nice" member of the group. "I'm sorry that happened, Agent Gibbs. I should've been able to stop him." Caden Nicholson looked genuinely apologetic as he shoved his hands into his pockets._

_"It's okay, Nicholson." Gibbs said. "Agent LaMont should have him on a tighter leash. I just don't get why you hang out with him."_

_"My father is one of Senator Kowalski's golfing buddies." Nicholson rolled his eyes. "If I don't hang out with Kowalski, I'll get an earful from my old man."_

_"Don't worry, I understand." Gibbs had a difficult, complicated relationship with his own father, Jackson Gibbs, who passed away fairly recently. "Do me a favor, Nicholson. Keep an eye on Kowalski. If he tries anything, I want to know about it."_

_"No problem, Agent Gibbs." Nicholson said. He looked around to make sure Kowalski and his cronies were well and truly gone. "Just between us, I like Agent McGee. I know he's a good, competent agent."_

_"I'm glad to hear that." Gibbs said. "You better get going before Kowalski wonders about you."_

_Nicholson opened his mouth to say more. Unfortunately, Vance chose that moment to let the entire bullpen know of his displeasure. "GIBBS! MY OFFICE, _NOW_!"_

FLASHBACK ENDS

Gibbs had to endure the mother of all lectures from Vance.

Unfortunately, there would be a written reprimand on Gibbs' file.

This was mostly thanks to Cornelius Kowalski, who doted on his only son and practically ignored his daughters. Gibbs knew to expect a political shitstorm in the form of the blustering senator from Kentucky.

Which was why he wasn't _precisely_ in a good mood when he finally talked to DiNozzo.

But Ducky was right.

There was no excuse for what he said.

They were extremely lucky that nothing happened to DiNozzo. Gibbs should've checked on him, just in case. When DiNozzo arrived, he was going to get something rarer than the Hope Diamond:

An apology from Gibbs.

* * *

Sarah reluctantly stepped into Penny's room.

She let out a moan as she spotted her grandmother.

Sarah could barely recognize her. Penny's head was wrapped in bandages. What visible skin there was, was horribly bruised. Her right arm was in a cast and resting in a sling above her head. There were several blankets covering her from the waist down.

There was a brace on Penny's left shoulder.

Only the beeping of the machines and the rise and fall of Penny's chest gave her any assurance that her grandmother was still alive. Sarah took the chair next to Penny's bed and ran a hand over her face.

It felt like she was caught in a waking nightmare.

She still couldn't believe her mother was dead.

While Sarah was never close to her mother, a tiny part of her had hoped to win Noelle's love and affection someday. She knew that Tim had the same dream.

Now, it would never come true.

However, in the end, when everything was said and done, Noelle was still her mother. Despite her difficulties with the woman, nothing would ever change that. Even with years of bitter estrangement, a part of Sarah still loved her.

And it'd been a shock to lose her.

Sarah didn't know what she'd do if she lost Penny. Noelle was gone, her father was on a countdown and she didn't even know if her brother was still alive.

So far, she'd yet to receive any phone calls from NCIS.

As if things weren't bad enough, Penny was in a coma.

Even if she woke up, Sarah didn't know if she was brain damaged or if she lost her memory. The doctors didn't wince words with her. The longer Penny stayed in the coma, the less her chances were of waking up. They were scheduling a Cat scan.

Penny faced more problems even if the most damage she had was a concussion.

She was partially paralyzed from the waist down.

Her life would never be the same.

As she stared at Penny's still form, Sarah began to shake.

Delayed reaction was hitting her hard as the reality of the situation washed over her. Fortunately, Amanda came at that moment with a large box of tissues in hand.

Sarah's tough facade faded away, revealing the vulnerable young woman hidden beneath. She looked not unlike a lost little girl as she let out one bitter sob after another. She went through the tissues as if they were candy.

Not that Amanda blamed her.

Sarah was going through too much trauma in such a short amount of time.

Amanda could do little more than offer a supporting hand on Sarah's shoulder as the poor girl continued to cry.

* * *

Henrietta "Hetty" Lange could now see why Deeks got OSP involved.

Normally, Noelle McGee-Cartwright's murder would be treated as a civilian case.

However, the deceased was the mother of NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee, who'd been kidnapped more than a week earlier. The timing of Noelle's murder was certainly suspicious.

As was the method of her death.

She'd been shot, execution style, in the head.

Twice.

Hetty stroked her chin, deep in thought.

Michael Cartwright, Noelle's husband, managed to find a diary hidden underneath the couple's mattress in the master bedroom. He also handed over a key to a storage unit that had been hidden in the bowels of Noelle's closet.

Hetty donned a pair of medical gloves.

Normally, she'd just hand over the diary to Nell Jones, the team's Intelligence Analyst. But Hetty was never one to ignore her instincts and something was compelling her to read the diary.

She took a deep breath and chose a page at random.

_"Dear Diary,_

_They know._

_They all know._

_I knew I never should've thrown away the pregnancy test in the bathroom. And I never should've tried to find out during Christmas break. My mother found it when she was putting towels away in the linen closet after doing some laundry._

_Mom and Dad just flipped out._

_They went apeshit on me and gave me the mother of all lectures._

_Even worse, they contacted John and his parents. Before I knew what was happening, the McGees came to my house. I didn't even want them here. It wasn't like John and I were dating._

_He was _supposed_ to be a one-night stand!_

_Mom dragged me to the hospital to confirm it._

_Sure enough, I was pregnant. Everything's happening too quickly. My parents are working with John's to plan a quickie wedding. The McGees are traditional types and they don't want bastard grandchildren._

_John's the same way._

_Even worse, he wants me to drop out of college._

_He keeps on telling me that no wife of his is going to work. I knew I should've gotten that abortion when I had the chance! This isn't what I wanted out of life!_

_I wanted to become a famous actress!_

_My dreams are being destroyed!_

_It's all this baby's fault! I vow right here and now to make him or her pay, Diary. I can't take it out on John. He comes from a well-connected naval family._

_But that doesn't mean this baby will be safe._

_It's the brat's fault._

_He or she has done nothing but ruin my life since their conception! My dreams of becoming rich and famous are going down the tubes. I never should've believed John when he said the condom was sturdy enough._

_This little bastard will pay for its temerity._

_In ways it could not even begin to imagine._"


	21. Chapter 21

DiNozzo repeatedly had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Gibbs was back at his desk, talking to a potential witness of Frost's murder.

DiNozzo didn't know what to expect when he finally came to work. No, scratch that. He assumed Gibbs would headslap him so hard, his future grandchildren would still feel it. He'd braced himself for a major chewing down, for Gibbs to give him hell for daring to be so late.

He thought Gibbs would greet him with a pissed off expression.

Instead, the former Marine acted out of character.

There was an apologetic expression on his face. Gibbs gently grabbed his arm and lead him to the elevator for one of his "conferences".

DiNozzo pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

They entered the elevator and Gibbs pressed the emergency button.

DiNozzo automatically braced himself for a Gibbslap. It was a reflexive action since he received the bulk of them. Instead, Gibbs turned to him with a wistful sigh.

"DiNozzo, I'm sorry."

DiNozzo...didn't know how to react.

This went against the grain of _everything_ he knew about his boss. Gibbs _never_ apologized. Never. After all, his official motto was "apologizing is a sign of weakness." DiNozzo never expected to hear those words cross his boss's lips.

DiNozzo suddenly started to worry.

Hearing Gibbs apologize made it feel like the former Marine was going against the natural order of things. Should he be on the lookout for other signs of the Apocalypse?

DiNozzo could only blink repeatedly as he stared stupidly at his boss.

Another sign that something was wrong was that Gibbs showed no signs of impatience. He just stood there, patiently waiting for DiNozzo to say something.

Okay, who was this changeling and what did he do with the real Gibbs?

Gibbs had no patience to speak of.

Even on the phone, he was his usual self. In other words, he barked out his usual threats in order to _convince_ DiNozzo to get to work faster. So what changed?

"What?" was all DiNozzo could say after a lengthy silence.

"I apologize." Gibbs said softly.

DiNozzo could only gape at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Gibbs couldn't blame him as he knew he was acting out of character. But Gibbs wasn't going to hide behind his usual masks and excuses.

This needed to be said.

"Boss, what are you apologizing for?" DiNozzo said. "I'm later than usual."

"Ducky knocked some sense into me." Gibbs admitted. "I've been trying to call you all morning. He's right. It should've occurred to me that something might be wrong when you never answered. You know my rules. You know better than to be unreachable. I should've gone to your place to check on you, DiNozzo."

Okay, now DiNozzo was officially _creeped out_.

Everyone on Team Gibbs knew their leader cared about them.

But Gibbs was never one to put that sentiment into words. There was a reason DiNozzo dubbed his boss the "functional mute". Gibbs was a man of few words. He preferred to let his actions do all the talking, so to speak. While it warmed him inside to hear his boss all but admit he was going to check on him like a worried parent, it felt..._wrong_ somehow, for his boss to be so open with his feelings.

"Boss, there was no reason for you to check on me." DiNozzo said. "I think your gut would've warned you if I was in danger. The reason I didn't answer the phone was that the sleeping pills I took were stronger than I anticipated." He smiled sheepishly.

"I'm glad you're okay." Gibbs said. "But Ducky was right. As corny as it sounds, we need to stick together in order to help McGee. He also pointed out the sick bastard who has him might have gotten to you as well. After all, the envelope was addressed to YOU. Those pictures were meant for YOU to see them. I need to keep a closer eye on you."

"Boss!" DiNozzo protested. He was a grown man, a seasoned federal agent! He didn't need a babysitter!

"This isn't up for discussion." Gibbs said, a hint of warning in his voice. DiNozzo quickly shut his mouth. "You're going to stay with me until McGee is rescued."

Before DiNozzo could protest, Gibbs pressed the emergency button and exited the elevator. DiNozzo shook his head and followed. He knew better than to argue with his boss. Once Gibbs made up his mind, that was it.

And if DiNozzo was honest with himself, a part of him was happy that his boss cared so much about his personal safety.

Gibbs certainly showed more concern than his fickle, self-absorbed father, Anthony DiNozzo Sr, ever did.

As DiNozzo returned to his desk, he noticed the bullpen was empty.

He quickly connected the dots as he recalled what Gibbs said.

No doubt Ducky headslapped Gibbs. Ducky was one of the rare few who had the balls to do so. The other agents and probies raced out of there as they knew Gibbs wouldn't necessarily take that lying down.

Gibbs probably ordered Bishop to do a coffee run.

Gibbs was back to his usual self as he barked out orders. He wanted DiNozzo to go over Frost's phone and financial records. DiNozzo couldn't press his boss further because Gibbs returned to his desk and phoned the witness.

DiNozzo sighed and dutifully went over the victim's records.

He spent the next ten minutes going over the records and making notations-in between pinching himself to make sure the entire experience wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.

As if to confirm his earlier words, Bishop raced to her desk with a box of pastries and a coffee tray in hand.

She seemed relieved about something after she quickly scanned the area. DiNozzo deduced she was happy that Ducky and Gibbs' "discussion" was over. She gamely passed around the coffees and pastries. DiNozzo was confused to note there was a third coffee.

He knew McGee hadn't been rescued.

And even if he had, he would be in the hospital, not the bullpen.

DiNozzo connected the dots yet again. No doubt Vance assigned them some help to find the perp who murdered Frost. He couldn't help hoping their temporary helper was a competent TAD.

Unfortunately for DiNozzo, he wouldn't get his wish.

* * *

"Geez lady, narcissistic much?" NCIS Senior Agent Sam Hanna muttered.

SAC Agent G. Callen suppressed a rude snort as he couldn't help but agree.

The OSP team was standing in the foyer of Noelle McGee-Cartwright's mansion. Kensi Blye, their junior agent, was in the master bedroom, taking pictures and bagging evidence. She was working with Marty Deeks, an LAPD detective and the official liasion to OSP. It was only seven thirty in the morning. Callen glanced through a French window with clinical detachment. Not surprisingly, there was a crowd growing outside the cordoned off area.

He could see reporters and morbid curiosity seekers.

This wasn't surprising, as Cartwright was one of the wealthiest businessmen in California and the couple was a well known part of the jet-set.

Poor Rose Schwartz, the LA county coroner, had a hell of a time getting Michelle's body to her domain. Some dumbass at LAPD headquarters blabbed to the press that one of the city's most well known social queens had been murdered.

So it was slow going getting the body to Autopsy.

Callen shifted his gaze to the wall perpendicular to the door.

It was more than obvious Noelle had had a VERY high opinion of herself.

There was a giant portrait of Noelle. It was so huge, it covered the entire wall. She was posing formally for the painting. It was like she was trying to copy Queen Elizabeth.

She was wearing a very formal, designer gown.

Her arms were clad in white opera gloves. Her hands were folded primly in her lap. She was sitting on an angle on a French chair with a velvet red cushion.

She wasn't smiling.

Her brown hair had been styled elaborately on her head.

Her emerald-green eyes-a trait she shared with her son, Timothy McGee-couldn't be more different. Whereas McGee's eyes were warm and friendly, Noelle's were frozen shards of verdant glass. Her gaze was sharp and piercing. Callen couldn't help but feel like her gaze was following him no matter where he went.

Everytime he stared at those eyes, he had to suppress a violent shudder.

She wore an elaborate diamond tiara.

She was covered in jewels. A fox fur stole was wrapped around her neck. This portrait pretty much set the tone for the rest of the mansion.

Callen didn't interview Michael Cartwright, Noelle's husband, yet.

The OSP team was patiently waiting for the FBI/NCIS task force to arrive from DC.

However, Callen didn't need to interview Cartwright to realize who was the dominate party in their marriage. You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out who was the primary decorator of their mansion.

It seemed like every room was a love letter to herself.

In a way, McGee was fortunate.

The OSP unit had a rare breather. In other words, they didn't have any cases or crises to speak of. Instead, they were cooling their heels, going over cold cases.

Sam was staring at the ceiling, whining that he had nothing to do.

As if determined to present herself as a genie, intent on granting their wish, Hetty appeared as if from out of nowhere as was her wont. Callen didn't have time to appreciate the humor of Sam jumping in his seat and nearly falling off his chair.

The team was stunned to learn about McGee's kidnapping and his mother's murder.

Callen had gotten to know McGee several years ago. McGee and Callen's longtime friend, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, came over to help with a case. McGee was a nice, friendly guy and it was difficult not to like him.

And he was a member of Gibbs' team.

Not surprisingly, the OSP team took his abduction personally.

While they waited for the task force to come, Hetty sent the team over to Noelle's mansion to process the crime scene. Callen wouldn't be surprised if there weren't many clues to speak of.

Noelle had been shot twice in the head.

This hinted that a hitman was sent to kill her.

Hitmen tended to be professional types and they knew better than to leave any evidence lying around. Cartwright didn't help matters when he ran all over the mansion, trying to find his wife. Not that Callen blamed him as any worried spouse would act in such a manner.

However, valuable forensic evidence might have been lost in his desperation to find her.

But Callen knew better than to assume things.

Maybe they would find a clue that would point in the killer's direction.

After they processed the crime scene, Callen intended to find that storage unit. Fortunately, Noelle was stupid enough to leave the monthly bills she would receive from the Cabana Storage Unit facility lying around on her desk. It was located in Hollywood.

Not far from the TLC Chinese Theatre and Hollywood Walk of Fame.

At that moment, Callen felt a curious chill go up and down his spine.

He felt a sudden reluctance to enter that storage unit. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. All of a sudden, Callen was afraid to wonder what he would find in Noelle's storage unit.

And what it meant for McGee.

* * *

Dirk Collins sat in his car in NCIS' parking garage.

He used the confrontation between Gibbs and Ducky as an excuse to get the hell out of Dodge.

He was sweating up a storm and nervously wringing his hands even though it was cold in the garage. His car wasn't turned on, which meant there was no heat.

But he didn't need the heat for warmth.

He already felt like he was stuck inside a furnace.

Collins couldn't help cursing his luck. Why did Vance have to choose _him_ to aid Team Gibbs? He felt safely anonymous in the bowels of CCU as outsiders rarely ventured down there.

He was just another computer geek.

Collins felt like fainting when Vance chose him to aid Team Gibbs with their latest case.

This...wasn't good.

In fact, this was a fucking disaster!

When Collins was approached to help with an "outside job", he jumped at the chance to make some money. Lord knew he needed it.

Collins wasn't afraid to admit he was a prototypical geek.

What people didn't know was that he had a gambling problem.

Collins owed a not inconsiderable sum to some bookies who were, let's just say, rather on the _violent_ side. It wasn't even a difficult job.

All he had to do was help to rig the CCTV cameras to an external monitor.

After that, he and his partner made sure the surveillance cameras showed nothing out of the ordinary. Collins earned more than enough money to pay back his bookies.

And save the rest for a rainy day.

Easy as pie, right?

Wrong.

His partner ended up dead.

Well, technically, they were missing. But Collins could see the writing on the wall. His partner was never going to see the light of day again.

If he didn't watch himself, he'd be next.

As if to confirm his thoughts, his phone rang.

Collins jumped in his sight as the shrill ringing pierced the silence. He grasped at his phone, tossing it from hand to hand like it was a hot potato. He dropped it a few times due to his sweaty hands. Since Collins was clumsy, he made sure it had a sturdy casing.

Finally, he managed to grasp it and glance at the display screen.

He paled when he recognized the number.

Reluctantly, he brought the phone to his ear after accepting the call.

"H-H-heell-ll-o?" He stammered.

"Where the hell are you?"

"In t-t-the pa-pa-pa-rrkk-ing ga-ga-ga-rra-ge."

"What the fuck are you doing in the garage? Why aren't you in CCU with the other nerds?"

"I g-g-got rer-rea-ss-ig-ign-e-ed."

"To where?"

"Gi-Gib-Gibbs t-t-te-am."

"..." There was a cold, lengthy silence.

"Gibbs' team?"

"Y-y-yes, si-s-sir."

"You better keep your mouth shut, Collins. If you narc on us, I'll gut you like a fish and make sure you're never seen again. You got me? Is that clear?"

"C-c-crystal, s-si-sir."

"Good."

The dial tone felt ominous all of a sudden.

Collins quickly dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.

It wasn't his fault that Vance selected him to assist Team Gibbs. But he knew he wouldn't have any luck explaining that to his...superiors. He put his phone away, (reluctantly) got out of the car and pressed his fob to lock the doors. He had to return to his temporary work station before Gibbs wondered where he went. As he headed for the elevators, Collins couldn't help but wonder who he should fear more:

The bookies, or his secret bosses.

* * *

"What did you just say?" I was seething with rage.

"Collins got reassigned."

"So get rid of him." I said.

"I can't."

"You can't?" I hissed. He knew better than to disobey orders.

"It would attract too much attention."

"Why?" I said. "He's a pissant with no friends or family. No one would miss him."

"He's been reassigned to Team Gibbs."

"He's been what?" I couldn't believe my ears...or my luck.

"He's assisting Gibbs with some case of theirs."

Argh!

I wanted to throw something at the wall.

Everything was going swimmingly, just like clockwork, until now. I should've disposed of Collins much sooner. Unfortunately, I arrogantly assumed it was safe to leave him alive as he was just another anonymous nerd in CCU.

Now, it was too late to dispose of him.

Gibbs and co would certainly notice if Collins suddenly went missing.

Then I frowned, suddenly suspicious.

"Why did Vance choose Collins?" I could almost feel the sudden fear coming from the other end of the line.

"It was a coincidence. Both of us know better than to say something." I relaxed, knowing he wasn't lying. However, this made things complicated. I couldn't get rid of the little bastard and I didn't trust in his ability to keep his mouth shut.

Especially around Gibbs.

Collins had an annoying stutter and couldn't lie to save his life.

Not to mention he had an unfortunate habit of blurting something out if he faced the slightest bit of pressure. Gibbs was bound to suspect something and he was _very_ good at putting someone under pressure in order to ferret out the necessary information.

"All right." I said finally. "Keep Collins on a short leash. Make sure he knows to keep that trap of his shut. I'll come up with something to get rid of him."

"Yes, sir."

I hung up without acknowledgement.

I hated complications. Complications were like children: a giant pain in the ass. I needed to do something in order to calm down. I couldn't follow Him around as He was at work. I'd already considered breaking into His apartment.

But the door was locked.

And I didn't want to leave any scuff marks behind from my lockpicks.

Tiny Tim was out cold from the injection I gave him. Lana was out of town. Then I glanced in the backseat of my SUV and my face lit.

Of course!

I drove as quickly as I could back to the cabin.

I parked the SUV. Then I raced to the back and retrieved a garbage bag. Even though He was in a hurry to get to work, He still managed to find time to drop off old clothes at a donation bin near His apartment building.

There was no way I was going to let unworthy mortals have the honor of wearing His clothing. Donated or not.

I quickly grabbed the garbage bag as soon as He was out of sight.

I secured the car with my fob.

Then I ran to the front door and unlocked it. I barely remembered to lock it I was in such a hurry. I raced to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. I ran to a nearby box and quickly fished around. Finally, I found the right cassette.

I put the cassette into my boombox and pressed the play button.

It was the song "Goodbye Horses" from the group, Q Lazarus. One of my favorite movies is "Silence of the Lambs".

I turned up the volume high, got undressed and sat down at my vanity. Since I didn't feel like dying my hair, I put on a wig. I glanced at the picture of my God carefully tacked onto the mirror. I opened a drawer and pulled out the necessary skin tone. I rubbed the cream furiously all over my face, neck, arms and upper body.

Then I put on colored contact lenses.

The same color as His eyes.

Then I rose to my feet and carefully opened the garbage bag. I fished around until I found an old Ohio State University T-shirt and a pair of frayed jeans. I got dressed and to my delight, I found we were the exact same size.

It's serendipity, I tell you.

Serendipity.

After dancing around like an idiot, I returned to my vanity and gave my best cocky smile and come hither stare. "Hello, I am Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. And you are...?"

We even sound alike!

It was _kismet_. Kismet!

I got to my feet, pressed the rewind button and played the song again. This time, I danced around in front of my full-length mirror. I could almost swear I could see Him in the reflection, watching with approval. I got an idea.

I reached inside the make-up drawer and pulled out a tube of red lipstick.

Then I carefully wrote a message on the mirror. It said:

"I am Tony DiNozzo."


	22. Chapter 22

Timeskip: Two days later

Vance slammed the phone down and rubbed his throbbing temples.

He popped a couple of Aspirin into his mouth and drank some water to wash it down.

Ever since Gibbs' little "spat" with Jordan Kowalski, his "esteemed" father, Senator Cornelius Kowalski, kept on calling Vance practically every hour, on the hour, to bitch over what happened. He kept on threatening to make life hell for NCIS.

Vance wasn't surprised Kowalski blabbed to his father.

The spoiled little shit was used to relying on his father to solve his problems.

It didn't help that Senator Kowalski had a huge say in how much NCIS was allotted each year. Or that he was _very_ good friends with Sarah Porter, the current SecNav.

Vance retrieved another toothpick.

Nothing was going his way lately.

Elias Cooper, a retired NIS agent, faced unexpected delays in coming to DC. This time, they were genuine annoyances and not excuses. Those annoyances included flight delays thanks to a sudden storm that erupted as if from out of nowhere in Orlando.

Cooper went to Orlando "to enjoy his golden years and get some pussy", as he so _eloquently_ put it.

His contacts still weren't making any headway in their investigation of McGee's past. On top of everything else, he'd yet to hear from Kort.

Vance suppressed a rueful snort. This had to be an historic first.

He actually _wanted_ to hear from Kort.

As if his thoughts conjured him up, his phone rang. "Vance."

"Can you go somewhere private so we can talk?"

"Kort!" Vance hissed. "Where the hell have you been! You were supposed to get in touch with me two days ago!"

"Please." That gave Vance pause. It wasn't like the CIA agent to say please. And for the first time, Vance could hear the strain and exhaustion in his voice. Vance rubbed tiredly at his forehead again.

"All right." Vance said. "Call me back in five minutes."

Vance hung up, rose to his feet and quickly exited the office.

* * *

Sarah forced herself to chew and swallow.

Amanda could be just as stubborn as Sarah.

She wanted the poor girl to eat something. The women were "enjoying" lunch in the cafeteria. Both were eating ceasar salad with grilled chicken and some water.

Neither felt like eating.

The food tasted like sandpaper.

But they wouldn't do Penny favors if they collapsed from hunger. Amanda did her best to keep Sarah's hopes alive. But it was difficult as Penny was still in a coma.

At least they were finally doing a CAT scan.

Took them long enough.

Amanda was worried about Sarah. Sarah went home briefly to take another shower and (finally) change her clothes. But she was relying on sleeping pills. If this kept up, she was going to get addicted.

Unfortunately, there was no other way for Sarah to fall asleep.

She would just stare at the ceiling otherwise.

Sarah looked pale and withdrawn. Her eyes were bloodshot and she always kept a box of tissues on hand because she was prone to bursting into sobs without warning.

She was still in shock and grief over her mother's murder.

Tim was still missing, John's condition was only worsening.

And the doctors were proving the stereotype that medicals had the all the compassion and sensitivity of a marble statue. In other words, none. They were already trying to discuss what should be done with Penny in case she never woke up.

She was able to at least partially breathe on her own.

But she was relying on the machines.

The doctors were pressuring Sarah to make a decision in case Penny's coma endured. Disgusted, Amanda had no qualms all but kicking them out the door.

Damn bastards.

Couldn't they see that Sarah was going through enough as it was?

Feh.

Some bedside manner.

When they were done, the women returned to Penny's room. Fortunately, Penny was finally done with the CAT scan and she'd been returned to her room. But she was still out cold. Tears filled Sarah's eyes as she sat at her grandmother's bedside and clasped her hand with her own. She was ready to unleash another torrent of tears, when she felt the fingers in her hand begin to flex.

* * *

Hetty wiped her mouth with toilet paper.

She reached out with a shaky hand to flush the toilet.

She had a long and illustrious career. Hetty had seen and experienced many disgusting things throughout her long life. But never did she feel disgusted as she was now. Noelle McGee-Cartwright had been a very _disturbed_ individual.

Which was why she felt like congratulating her murderer and awarding him or her with a medal. The hitman did the world a public service when he got rid of Noelle.

The bitch.

Hetty rose to her feet on shaky legs and stumbled to the sink.

She quickly brushed her teeth and gurgled with mouthwash.

Then she took off her glasses and splashed her face several times. She patted her face dry with a towel. It was hard to believe that McGee turned out to be such a polite and friendly young man. It certainly wasn't because of his so-called mother.

That bitch wasn't fit to raise rats, much less children.

Unfortunately, Noelle was like Jekyll and Hyde.

In other words, she'd been living a double life. She knew how to hide the truth from the public. She made sure her children knew to keep their mouths shut about what happened behind closed doors. Reluctantly, Hetty returned to her desk, where that _thrice-damned_ diary was waiting for her.

Noelle wasn't the only woman who never wanted children.

They only cared about themselves and thought of children as a burden.

She wasn't the first woman who thought about abortion as a way out. She didn't want anyone or anything interfering with her dream of becoming a famous actress.

However, Noelle took her resentment to new heights.

She'd more than lived up to her vow to make her baby's life a living hell.

Noelle despised poor McGee from the getgo. She never loved him. In fact, if it wasn't for Penny Langston's intervention, Noelle would've miscarried. Or she would've gotten an abortion while her husband was at sea. If she'd succeeded, Noelle would've claimed she had a miscarriage.

Penny had to move in with the McGees to keep an eye on Noelle.

The woman did everything she could think of to miscarry and get rid of the baby.

Noelle had been sick and fucked up in every sense of the word. She blamed McGee for all her troubles: being forced to drop out of college, the lack of love and affection in her marriage, gaining more weight as her pregnancy advanced. Good lord, she'd been so shallow and self absorbed.

Hetty thought being forced to marry so she wouldn't have a bastard child was the only reason Noelle despised her son.

But nothing could've prepared her for the entry she'd read minutes earlier.

Which was why she'd been worshiping the porcelain gods.

Hetty sat down at her desk and reread the passage that saw her emptying her lunch:

_Dear Diary,_

_Well, the little shit is here._

_I hate him so much._

_In fact, he's ugly! I could tell he got his looks from John's side of the family. None of them are attractive, like me. God, I wish he would die._

_I had a feeling he would continue to ruin my life._

_And I was right._

_There is no love lost between John and me. All we do is argue the rare times he bothers to come home. Not to mention the fact that he is lousy in bed. It is all I can do not to fall asleep. I'd seek a quick fuck, but I can't._

_My lousy bitch of a mother in law is still around._

_Penny made sure I didn't abort._

_Damn cunt._

_But that's not the worst part of all._

_The stress of putting up with my sham of a marriage-not to mention my failed abortion attempts-caused my body to induce labor. John was actually on leave. We were visiting my folks when I felt like my stomach was being impaled by a thousand knives._

_John rushed me to the hospital._

_Unfortunately, the stupid douche was driving too fast._

_We got into a horrible accident. The ambulance rushed us to the hospital. I lost consciousness and I was losing a lot of blood. John, the lucky bastard, escaped with minor injuries._

_But that didn't prepare me for the devastating news._

_I'd been pregnant with twins._

_The doctors did the best they could, but they could only save one child. They couldn't save the other. My daughter, my precious baby girl, was _dead_. It was all Tim's fault. He is a murderer. I knew he'd be nothing but a filthy murderer. He's already killed my dreams. He's already destroyed my perfect figure. Now, he's killed his own twin sister._

_How could I love such a _monster_?_

_Such a filthy little beast?_

_He's not even _human_. He's an _abomination_ who killed someone within seconds of being born. Unfortunately, I can't kill him. Penny's going to stick by to make sure Tim doesn't meet with an "accident"._

_But I'll never love him._

_He's killed his sister._

_I _refuse_ to let _him_ kill _me_._

* * *

He lit a Cuban cigar, seething with rage.

He knew Max had failed him.

This wasn't like the former Army sniper. Max was VERY good at his job. Until now, he'd yet to fail an assignment. He knew better than to disappoint him. He'd been a good, loyal and dependable employee for nearly twenty years.

It was rare that he was able to rely on someone.

For him, finding such a man was more valuable than all the gold in Fort Knox.

Obviously, it'd been a mistake on his part to only send Max. His...quarry was extremely dangerous, unstable and without any boundaries to speak of.

No one was ever able to put checks and balances on his behavior.

Men like him were the most dangerous of all, in his opinion.

His prey didn't let pesky things like rules or laws get in his way. While he himself was far from being a law-abiding citizen, he knew there were certain lines you didn't cross. He preferred to keep a low profile and operate from the shadows.

His quarry had no such compunctions.

In fact, he _wanted_ to attract attention.

If it wasn't for the government buying him off and giving him new "toys" to play with every now and then, the public would have long since found out about his existence by now.

Now, he mused, taking another drag, he couldn't rely on the government.

This was all Timothy McGee's fault.

If the stupid little shit hadn't been stupid enough to get kidnapped again, the past would've remained buried. Now, too many people were poking their sorry noses into his business.

HIS business!

Unfortunately, those noses belonged to high profile entities.

Getting rid of them was not an option.

It would be one thing if it was just Trent Kort. The man had no friends to speak of, lots of enemies and a dangerous profession. If another CIA agent "disappeared", no one would bat an eyelash. They would assume it was just another job hazard.

But Kort was working with Leon Vance, director of NCIS.

A _federal_ agency.

It didn't matter that NCIS was at the bottom of the ARMFED food chain. It would attract far too much unwanted attention if anything _untoward_ happened to the man.

They weren't the only nosy parkers to worry about.

McGee's boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, was poking about and asking too many questions via his contacts. He knew it wouldn't be long before Tony DiNozzo got involved. It didn't help that Kort and Vance were using their own contacts to gather information.

He should've killed McGee a long time ago.

His friendship with John McGee be damned.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tentative knock. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he took another drag. Carruthers knew better than to disturb him and disrupt his cogitations. He only did so when something was extremely wrong.

"Come in!" He called out.

Carruthers opened the double doors and gave a respectful bow.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir." He said in his proper English accent. "But you have received a..._package_ of some sort."

Package?

"Send it in." He ordered. Carruthers bowed, stepped aside and snapped his gloved fingers. His eyes narrowed when his servants came in, carrying several bloodsoaked packages. They placed them all on his desk. When they were done, he waved a hand dismissively. He didn't notice as Carruthers bowed again before ushering the other servants out the door. He quietly closed the doors behind him.

He exhaled and opened a medium sized parcel first.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to see Max's empty sockets staring back at him.


	23. Chapter 23

"Oh my God." Vance muttered. "Are you sure?"

He made sure he wasn't visible. Vance's back was to him as he stood there in his hastily donned jacket. It was hanging off one shoulder and his right arm wasn't in the sleeve. Vance looked tense and worried. He clutched his cell phone so tightly, the knuckles were turning white.

"Did you take care of it?"

He couldn't help wondering who Vance was speaking to.

For a man of his experience and background, Vance was surprisingly oblivious to his surroundings. It was no trick at all to follow the man. His instincts told him that tailing the director was important.

He would be proven correct.

"Does anyone else know?"

What was going on?

Vance was nodding along to whatever the other person was saying. He would mutter things like "yeah" and "uh-huh". He was chewing rigorously on his toothpick.

Still unaware that he was being watched.

His interest rose.

"Were you made?"

So, Vance was dealing with some kind of undercover op. Normally, Vance was difficult to read, but the relief was visible on his face. The relief was short lived.

"Don't give me that shit! You've had two days to find something!"

His grip on his cell phone tightened.

So Vance was digging. But precisely what he was looking for was the million dollar question. The other person continued talking. While the entire situation was intriguing, he started to wonder if it was worth it.

The day was getting colder.

The temperature was definitely dropping.

It was already snowing and the winds were howling. The winds made it difficult to hear and understand Vance. Fortunately, he always possessed exceptional hearing.

Before he was about to return to his desk, Vance said the one thing that rewarded his patience: "Keep on digging. There's gotta be evidence somewhere that McGee has been kidnapped before!"

Hm.

McGee had been kidnapped before?

Interesting.

Very interesting, indeed.

A cold smirk touched his lips as he retreated into the shadows before Vance could spot him. He would find somewhere private as he had a phone call of his own to make.

* * *

He coldly peered into the box.

Max's severed head took up the entire space.

He always possessed an iron stomach and firm control over his bodily functions. So his stomach didn't churn as he opened up the other parcels. His quarry needed to change his MO, he mused coldly.

The other packages contained Max's severed limbs.

He could make out his arms, sans the fingers.

He could see the legs, sans the toes.

The largest package contained Max's torso.

Everything had been cut with surgical precision. This wasn't a surprise as despite his psychotic, fucked-up nature, his quarry was an exceptional doctor. He returned his gaze to Max's head.

It was odd, seeing emotion on Max's face.

Normally, the man was as cold and emotionless as himself.

Max's features were forever twisted in a frozen rictus of fear, pain and horror. The body showed evidence of torture. There were lashes, marks and bruises of varying shape and size.

He wasn't surprised that Max's eyes, fingers and toes were gone.

The bastard always liked his trophies.

He stubbed out his cigar and lit another. He hated complications. They were like lawyers and politicians: a giant, patted pain in the ass.

Now his quarry knew without a doubt that he was after him.

Apparently, the man had contacts of his own.

How else would he have learned that he was in DC? This wasn't good. While the other man was batshit crazy, he was intelligent. He was clever enough to disappear and never leave a single trace of his presence.

It'd been a mistake to work with him before.

Unfortunately, he'd been too arrogant to see that.

He'd needed an amoral assistant who had no qualms or ethics to speak of. Someone who was brilliant. Someone who had a medical background. Years ago, he'd been young and full of himself. So sure he knew everything.

So sure he could keep his assistant in check.

He required a guinea pig for his plans, which was where a young Timothy McGee came in. He thought he knew his assistant inside and out.

That the other man could be trusted to keep his _impulses_ in check.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Clearly, it'd been a major mistake on his part to let his assistant live. But he'd honestly believed the government when they said they would take care of everything. John McGee had been a loyal yet unwitting help in that regard.

All of the evidence was destroyed.

His assistant was paid off to disappear.

He honestly thought that was the end of the matter. The brat was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and he never went to the police. John knew how to keep his son in line.

And he himself was able to enjoy success and a rising career.

So certain his past would never come to bite him in the ass.

Apparently, he'd been stupid enough to let sleeping dogs lie. He should've known better than to leave such liabilities lying around. His former assistant couldn't be allowed to live.

He had too much damning information on him.

And the evidence to go along with it.

He refused to take this lying down. He'd been working too hard and too long to build a successful, fruitful life for himself. He wasn't going to let that pantywaist McGee and his insane, fucked up former assistant destroy everything he built over the years. It was time to..._tie up_ some loose ends.

He made a quick phone call to Dennis, who promised to come immediately.

Then he shifted his gaze to Max's torso.

His brow furrowed.

Apparently, there was something he'd originally missed in his initial perusal.

He approached Max's torso and spotted something crudely stapled to the right side. He ripped the folded up piece of paper from the body and carefully unfurled it.

A message was written in dried blood, presumably Max's:

_"It's so hard to find good help these days, isn't it?"_

* * *

God bless technology, Tim thought with a painful grimace.

He was back in the room he first woke up in ever since his hellish ordeal began.

This time, his bastard kidnapper had him facing the wall as he was whipped over and over again. Despite his broken leg, he was being forced to stand on his tippy toes. His entire back felt like it was on fire. Sometimes, the whip would even hit the backs of his legs.

Making it worse was the fact that the whip had multiple lashes.

And there were sharp, crude nails and razors attached to said lashes.

Tim didn't know how long the whipping occurred. It could've only been a matter of minutes, but to him, it'd been countless hours. Oh God, it hurt so much!

Especially when he felt the nails and razors digging into his skin.

The bastard was playing yet another oldie on that radio of his.

This time, he was playing Devo's "Whip it" at ear-splitting levels. Even worse, the tape was on a loop.

The asshole was playing the same song over and over again as he continued to whip his victim.

Tim's voice was hoarse from screaming his head off.

His throat was sore as a result.

The whippings weren't easy to predict or anticipate. His kidnapper would vary the timing, the speeds and the duration of the lashes. Sometimes, he would drag the lashes with excruciating slowness down Tim's back.

Or the back of his legs.

Not surprisingly, his blood poured down his body in tiny rivers.

Just as Tim felt like he was going to lose it, his kidnapper's cell phone rang. Both were able to hear it despite the loud volume coming from the boombox. The kidnapper turned off the radio to make sure he wasn't hearing things. Sure enough, the cell phone rang once more.

The ringtone made Tim sick to his stomach.

As it was Magnum PI's theme song.

Apparently, his kidnapper had a sadistic personality. He placed the whip on Tim's shoulders, making sure the lashes were draped all over his back. Then he whistled the Andy Griffith theme song as he shoved the nails and razors into his skin.

Then he exited the room after pressing his phone to his ear.

Tim panted, trying to catch his breath.

He made sure not to move his body as he didn't want the metal going further into his back. Hearing that ringtone made him want to vomit.

Not surprisingly, it reminded him of DiNozzo.

And thusly, his team.

Tim was running out of hope and optimism. He didn't know how long he'd been in his kidnapper's clutches. It could've been days, weeks or months as he had no sense of timing.

All he knew was that it was still winter.

Where was his team?

Why weren't they coming to his rescue?

Just as Tim was about to give into his despair, something inside him began to snap. No. NO! He refused to go like this. He wasn't going to give up. He refused to give his bastard kidnapper the satisfaction.

If his team wasn't coming to save him, Tim would find a way on his own.

Somehow, someway, he was going to escape.

* * *

His grin threatened to split his face.

Oh, it'd been so much _fun_ playing with Maxie!

Unfortunately, his fun didn't last long. One would think someone of Max's experience and background would have a bit more stamina.

Not to mention endurance.

Or a bigger set of balls.

Oh well.

Maxie was good practice nonetheless..

It felt so _good_ getting back on the saddle after so many years resting on his laurels. The toys the government sent him were never good enough.

He'd felt like a locked animal.

Trapped in a tiny cage.

Now, he was _free_. He'd already punished his traitorous uncle and taught Maxie a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. It was a pity that his toys never lasted long. But that didn't deter him.

He had new toys to play with:

Leon Vance.

Trent Kort.

Anthony DiNozzo Jr.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

They were all digging into things that were better off remaining buried. But he honestly didn't mind. They were _bound_ to be more _fun_ than Maxie. They were all dangerous and formidable in their own right.

Maybe they'd last longer than Maxie.

Maybe.

For now, he would have to leave them alone. There was something _else_ he had to take care of: his former "master".

Master, ha!

What a joke!

He couldn't be controlled. No one could hold him back or direct his actions. He wasn't some marionette with strings. And his old employer wasn't nearly as much of a master puppeteer as he thought. But fooling the other man was a necessary evil.

Otherwise, his toy would've been taken away.

And he'd enjoying playing with little Timmy VERY much.

Unfortunately, his fun was cut short thanks to his uncle, Inspector Loose Lips. Timmy had been rescued and the government made sure he was kept far away from the boy.

He had to pretend to behave himself.

There'd been far too many eyes on him.

As a result, he couldn't reclaim his toy. He kept tabs on Timmy over the years. And he'd been able to _distract_ himself with toys the government never knew about.

Now, things were different.

Someone else had Timmy in his grasp.

Now that wouldn't do.

Timmy was his.

HIS!

In the meantime, he would take care of his former employer. However, it wouldn't be done right away. No, no. That would ruin the fun! He hoped the man enjoyed his present.

Every once in a while, he believed in being generous.

In the meantime, he would focus his attention on his future toys.

Not Timmy and his associates. No, his former "master" was bound to send other men after him. He couldn't wait until they were in his grasp.

If luck was on his side, they would be more fun than Maxie!

* * *

"_Interesting_." I purred. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I heard it straight from Vance himself."

I was silent for a few moments.

"Continue to monitor the situation." I said finally. "Keep a low profile AND a close eye on our favorite nerd. Make sure Collins knows to keep that trap of his shut."

"Yes, sir."

I hung up without saying another word.

So, Tiny Tim had been kidnapped before. I made a mental note to find out as much as I could about his previous kidnapping. I didn't dare send my more competent agent to do the necessary digging.

No one could suspect his true allegiances.

And he knew better than to attract attention.

Fortunately, I had other agents placed in other federal and international institutions. Between them all, they were bound to find out what Tiny Tim suffered in the past.

It would be more leverage that I could use against him.

I so love making him squiggle and writhe like a worm on a hook.

In the meantime, I had more _preparations_ to make. The next session was already planned and the necessary room was ready. The..._parties_ involved knew to keep their mouths shut.

Not that they would be around to make trouble for me.

I'd already learned my lesson with Collins.

As they say, loose lips sink ships.

I whistled the Andy Griffith theme song again as I entered another room.

I removed a picture of a cowboy riding a horse, revealing a keypad. I put down the picture and inputted the combination. A panel slid aside, revealing a cavern that had a torch lit and a series of curving stone steps. I went down the steps, uncaring as the panel slid shut behind me.

The torches were carefully spaced apart so they would provide the necessary illumination.

I had a series of caverns, tunnels and chambers built underneath the cabin.

While it was cold, it didn't bother me.

As I'd mentioned before, winter was a kindred spirit for me.

Finally, I reached the bottom of the steps.

I was standing inside a large chamber. I approached the...structure that was located at the other end of the chamber. I reverently caressed the altar. It was a large rectangle, with four chains and manacles located at the four corners. I glanced upwards. A large, religious effigy was secured to the rocky wall above.

I'd paid good money to have it created.

It featured my Lord God.

He was standing on a marble platform, gazing coldly at the altar below. A marble statue was a pale imitation, but I could feel the presence of my God nonetheless. The statue glowed with power and purpose.

Soon, I thought. Soon.

My eyes flashed with unholy anticipation.

Tiny Tim would finally redeem himself. I was going to exterminate his life and purify his soul...by sacrificing him to my Lord God. I could only hope and pray that my God would accept this puny offering.

After all, Tiny Tim barely rated above an insect.

I closed my eyes dreamily. I could see it now.

He would come alongside His _insignificant_ team members. Tiny Tim would be secured on this altar, his eyes full of fear as he writhed ineffectually all over the altar. They would watch as I stood there in my white robes, my sacrificial dagger held tightly in my hand.

Slowly, I would raise my dagger into the air, determined not to take my eyes off my Lord God or turn my back on Him. After all, I would be dammed throughout all eternity if I showed Him the slightest bit of disrespect.

They would watch as I sacrificed Tiny Tim in my Lord's name. I would plunge the dagger straight into Tiny Tim's heart. The only sad part was that I couldn't witness the final moments of his pathetic little life. I could only content myself with hearing his gurgled screams as he writhed in pain all over the altar before he _finally_ died. Doing the entire world a favor in the process.

Once Tiny Tim was dead, I would approach slowly approach Him with my gaze turned downwards, displaying my submissiveness and deference to His Holiness as I slide down to my knees.

I would reverently lower my head.

He would place His hand upon my head.

Bestowing His holy benediction in approval.

His team members would fall over themselves, giving me thanks and praise for finally riding them of a bothersome presence that had sullied them for years.

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and let out a regretful sigh.

Sadly, the time hadn't come yet.

I resigned myself to the fact that this moment was far in the future. Fortunately, this would make what I'd suffered all the more worth it. It wasn't easy, putting up with Tiny Tim.

Soon, he would be gone at my hands.

I couldn't wait.


	24. Chapter 24

Timeskip: A few hours later

"Thank you kindly for coming to my humble abode, Sarah."

Inwardly, Sarah Porter rolled her eyes. Humble abode her ass.

Cornelius Lee Kowalski always had an over-inflated opinion of himself and that was reflected in his massive estate. Kowalski Manor crested atop a hill overlooking Louisville. It was a five-story behemoth that included nearly twenty rooms, many bathrooms, landscaped grounds, an Olympic sized pool, beautiful, terraced gardens and tennis courts.

There was also a multi-story garage nearby, which housed Kowalski's collection of antique and luxury cars.

The rooms were full of French furniture and priceless Rembrandt paintings.

Cornelius was a self made millionaire who made a fortune in the horse racing industry. His wealth and status increased when he married Isabelle Devereaux, the daughter of one of Louisville's more prominent families.

The press couldn't get enough of them.

Cornelius and Isabelle were highly respected in Louisville society.

Mrs. Kowalski was known for her lavish parties. She always appeared in designer clothing and was the chairperson of many charitable committees. The press couldn't get enough of them.

They appeared to be the perfect couple.

Their picture perfect family life was complete when they had three children.

Cornelius was the very image of a southern gentleman enjoying his leisure. He wore a fashionable country suit as he nursed a tumbler of brandy in one of the rear patios. He had a jovial facade. He was tall yet extremely large, with black hair and matching beard. Both had tints of grey.

People likened him to an aging Santa Claus.

Or a large teddy bear.

No one could see the icy calculation glinting in his blue eyes. Cornelius didn't get as far as he had by being stupid. Image was everything to the man.

He was also sexist and very old fashioned.

His son was everything to him.

Truth be told, Sarah wondered how they ever came to be friends. When Cornelius wasn't bragging about his accomplishments, he was rhapsodizing about the (imagined) exploits of his son.

He acted like Jordan could walk on water.

In reality, the boy was stupider than a pile of rocks.

Cornelius would do _anything_ for his son. For some reason Sarah was never able to fathom, Jordan wanted to join NCIS and become its star agent.

Which was rather odd, as the Kowalski family didn't have any naval connections to speak of. However, there was an unofficial rule in the Kowalski household: "What Jordan wants, Jordan gets".

Cornelius always spoiled and indulged his son.

He gave him everything he wanted and solved all his problems.

Sarah had a good feeling Cornelius called her over because NCIS was involved. She couldn't help but wonder what the spoiled little shit did this time. Unfortunately, everytime Jordan fucked up, she had to help clean up his messes.

As Cornelius was a very influential senator.

And NCIS' budget depended upon his _generosity_.

"Thank you for having me." Sarah said finally.

"Please, sit." Cornelius gestured towards the empty wrought-iron chair at the other end of the small, circular table.

"Thank you." Sarah sat down, nodding gratefully as a servant handed her a glass of brandy. She suppressed an irritated scowl as Cornelius dismissed the servant with a languid hand gesture. The smug bastard always acted like the proverbial king of his castle.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I have called you here." Cornelius said.

"Yes." Sarah said, sipping her drink.

"I'm afraid my son has been involved in a spot of bother." Cornelius said.

"Spot of bother?" Sarah echoed.

"There's been a little..._misunderstanding_ with one of NCIS' agents." Cornelius explained. He put down his drink and steepled his fingers. "He got into a little _tiff_ with Agent Gibbs."

"Ah." Sarah nodded.

"My poor little Jordie was quite upset over what happened." Cornelius said.

That was another thing that annoyed Sarah. Cornelius always referred to his son as "his little Jordie", as if he were a five year old or something. Then again, considering the way he went crying to his father everytime something went wrong, maybe the nickname wasn't entirely off the mark.

"I'll have a talk with Agent Gibbs." Sarah said.

"I'm afraid that's not good enough." Cornelius said with false sadness.

"Oh?" Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"I want my little Jordie to be happy." Cornelius said. "And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that I have some _influence_ towards how much NCIS gets allotted each year come budget time."

"You don't." Sarah said stiffly, a hint of warning in her voice. Fool that he was, Cornelius arrogantly ignored it.

"There may be a way to..._forget_ this altercation ever happened." Cornelius said slyly. He picked up his drink to take another sip.

"Do tell." Sarah drawled, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Fire Agent McGee and put my son in his place." Cornelius said bluntly. His jovial mask faded away, revealing the cold-hearted bastard hidden underneath. Most people would be intimidated. Not only did Cornelius command a lot of wealth and influence, he wasn't above using his height and weight to bully the other person into submission.

Unfortunately for him, Sarah had a spine of hidden steel.

She wasn't one to be intimidated.

And she wasn't about to let her "friend" tell her what to do.

"No." Sarah said.

"Good, I'm glad we could clear that-" At first, Sarah's refusal didn't register. Cornelius was so accustomed to getting his way, he wasn't used to hearing the word "no". Then, what she said finally penetrated his ears. He jumped to his feet. "What did you say!?" He looked mad enough to spit fire as his face turned redder than a tomato.

"Did I stutter?" Sarah asked coldly.

"Why, you-" Cornelius tried.

"Don't threaten me." Sarah set her glass down with a loud thud as she slowly rose to her feet. She looked Cornelius dead set in the eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I wouldn't let your brat join Gibbs' team if he were the last person on Earth!"

"Then you can forget about NCIS getting a good budget come October 1." Cornelius said, downing the rest of his drink in an angry gulp.

"Actually, you won't be doing anything." Sarah said smugly.

"What?" Cornelius said.

"Not only will you stop making trouble for the agents under my command, you will help give NCIS a generous budget out of the goodness of your heart." Sarah said.

"And why would I do that?" Cornelius sneered.

"If you don't, I wouldn't be surprised if a certain picture featuring you and a Miss Gloria Jenkins made its way to the press." Cornelius went white at the casual mention of his longtime mistress. "I'm so glad we could come to an understanding and _resolve_ this matter."

"..." Cornelius was too angry to reply.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Cornelius." Sarah said sweetly. Then she made her way to the patio doors. Before she left, she glanced over her shoulder and gave a final warning. "Don't fuck with me, Cornelius. You won't like the end results if you do."

THEN she walked away, her dignity intact.

* * *

Danielle Evans was glad she was enjoying OSP's air conditioning.

She wasn't used to this heat.

Unlike their Eastern Coast counterparts, the denizens of Los Angeles were "enjoying" a sweltering heat wave despite the fact that it was winter. She and Ruby Denton were busy with processing the evidence that had been collected from Noelle McGee-Cartwright's mansion.

They were working alongside Nell Jones.

She exchanged grim glances with Ruby.

They'd been working this case nonstop for forty-eight hours straight. Fornell would only allow them brief rest periods as he didn't want them to keel over.

Danielle could understand wanting to solve a case.

But she was _tired, _dammit!

She wasn't like Abby Sciuto, who always acted like she had tons of caffeine pumped into her system via an IV line. Danielle was accustomed to working an eight hour shift. Unlike Abby, she was happy to leave the lab and keep her work where it belonged.

Being the lead forensic scientist was foreign to her.

As if an answer to her prayers, Sacks popped his head into the doorway.

"Okay, you two, take a break." Sacks said. "Fornell wants you well rested and ready to tackle the evidence with fresh eyes. Report back in four hours."

Then he left.

Danielle nearly danced for joy.

They didn't have such a long rest for days! With a happy sigh, Danielle stretched and left the lab. She took a cab to return to her hotel. The task force was staying at a local Motel 8.

It was far from being a luxury hotel.

But they were here to work on a case, not to enjoy a vacation.

Danielle took a shower once she was back in her room. Instead of taking a nap, she opened her suitcase and pulled out her iPad. She hasn't talked to her sister in weeks. They were very close and they usually chatted every day.

If they couldn't meet face to face, they would Skype.

As both had very busy jobs.

Unfortunately, Danielle wasn't able to Skype with her lately thanks to this case. She felt like she hadn't been able to take a breather in days. But now, she had a four hour respite and she fully intended to take advantage of it.

She was happy to learn that her sister was free to chat.

"Hey, Sis!" Danielle said happily.

"Hey, yourself." Her sister replied. "Why haven't you been able to Skype lately?"

"Sorry about that." Danielle grimaced. "I've been very busy with a case."

"Say no more." She laughed. "I know what it's like when work gets in the way."

"So what have you been up to?" Danielle asked.

"I think things are finally going to work out." She said happily.

"Oh?" Danielle knew what she was talking about. "What makes you say that?"

"Look at this necklace I got!" Krissy proudly displayed the necklace.

Danielle gasped and did a double take. She'd seen that necklace before!

* * *

Callen was tempted to go to the nearest bar.

He wanted to forget what he and his team discovered in the storage unit.

Noelle had been a truly fucked up piece of work. Callen gazed at the photographs crowding his desk. How come no one was able to pierce Noelle's facade? His gaze shifted to Noelle's picture stapled to a manila folder that contained her information.

It was sickening that she'd been such a beautiful woman.

There was a devil lurking behind that angelic facade.

She was the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing. Callen already emptied the contents of his stomach after he stumbled out of the storage unit.

He hadn't felt this sickened since he was a rookie at his first crime scene.

In fact, everyone stumbled to the nearest restrooms to worship the porcelain gods.

FLASHBACK

_As Callen approached Noelle's storage unit, the bad feeling returned._

_He felt a sudden reluctance to enter it._

_He exchanged grim looks with Sam, who was just as reticent. Callen glanced over his shoulder at Fornell and Sacks. It was apparent they shared the same feeling as both men, who were seasoned agents in their own right, looked ready to bolt._

_In fact, everyone felt like rookies at their first crime scene._

_Callen took a deep, steadying breath._

_Everyone donned a pair of medical gloves. Then Callen used the key on the lock. Sam carefully placed the lock in a manila envelope and sealed it. Callen reached down to pull up the door._

_It was a very large room._

_Especially for a storage unit._

_They entered the unit and glanced around. There were boxes upon boxes, filled to the brim with old fashioned video tapes. Against one wall, there was a large shelf._

_It was full of journals and notebooks._

_Another box was full of manila folders._

_But that wasn't the truly sickening part. Every inch of wall space was covered in photographs and large, white posters. The photos were of McGee. Judging from the expression on his face, he was oblivious to the fact that he was being photographed._

_Noelle had tailed him everywhere._

_There were pictures of him helping to process crime scenes._

_Going to the laundromat._

_Walking his dog, Jethro._

_On dates with past girlfriends._

_Going on book tours in his guise as Thom E. Gemcity._

_All of the photographs were mutilated. Some of the faces were violently scratched out. Or she would cut his face and body into little pieces and tape them all over the walls._

_The posters contained crude messages written in red marker._

_One said "Die Tim Die"._

_Another said "Rot in hell, Tim"._

_But the coup de grace was saved for last._

_In the far corner, there was a recliner chair. Noelle had placed a mannequin there, clad in an outfit that McGee would wear. She'd crudely stapled a photograph of McGee's face to the front of the mannequin's head._

_The mannequin had been mutilated._

_It was full of knives, needles and burn marks._

_There was rope tied around its neck. One of the arms was nearly sawed off and was hanging by a mere thread._

_You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to realize Noelle despised her son._

_Sickened, they raced out of there like the hounds of hell were after them._

FLASHBACK ENDS

Callen remembered his first meeting with McGee.

While he'd been a little timid, he was very nice, friendly and easygoing.

How he could turn out that way with a mother like Noelle confused the hell out of Callen. McGee acted like a normal, straight-up guy. There was nothing to suggest that he had a rotten childhood of any kind. It was easy to assume he had a normal life and that nothing tragic happened in his past. In fact, McGee struck him as being a little soft. Judging from the vile contents of that storage unit, nothing could be further from the truth.

Which meant he was made of sterner stuff than Callen originally thought.

It was too easy to dismiss McGee as being of any consequence.

McGee was tougher than he looked. How he grew up with his sanity intact was an amazing feat within itself. Especially with his bitch of a mother.

Who knew what McGee endured growing up.

"G!" Sam called.

"What, Sam?" Callen said.

"Eric's found something!" Sam said, referring to their resident geek and other intelligence analyst, Eric Beale. Callen rose to his feet, eager to see what Eric found. Eric had been working for many hours straight, watching the videos confiscated from Noelle's storage unit.

While he was impatient to learn what Eric discovered, he was dreading it, too.

As he couldn't help but wonder what his meant for McGee.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Cornelius asked.

"Yes, sir."

"McGee's been kidnapped?" Cornelius tried to quell his rising panic.

"Yes, sir."

Cornelius hung up without acknowledgement.

This...wasn't good.

He took to pacing. This entire day had been hell from the moment he woke up. He and his wife had taken to sleeping in separate rooms. Isabelle found out about his mistress. She only stayed with him to avoid scandal.

Both had secrets to hide.

The last thing they needed was a divorce.

Then that bitch, Sarah Porter, called his bluff and threatened to reveal his affair to the press if he tried to make trouble for NCIS.

Women.

Bah.

Who needed them.

Stupid cunts.

Then, as if determined to prove that trouble always comes in threes, he got a phone call from one of his informants at NCIS. He was horrified to learn that McGee had been kidnapped. Not that he cared about what happened to him.

No, McGee was a pathetic little pussy as far as he was concerned.

No, it was more that he was worried about what would be uncovered.

Dammit, this was so _unfair!_ He'd been so _careful_! Cornelius destroyed as much evidence as possible. No one could discover what he'd been up to in the past. This would destroy his career, his reputation and his standing.

Not to mention blow his plans for Jordan right out of the water.

That boy was going to be president someday.

Cornelius raced to his bar and quickly poured some brandy. He knocked it down in one gulp. He needed time to think.

To plan.

What was he going to do?

"Hello, Cornelius." He froze. Cornelius gulped.

He knew that voice.

Cornelius barely suppressed a whimper as he turned around. Sure enough, HE was sitting at his desk as if he owned it. Cornelius knew better than to raise a fuss.

The man continued to stare at Cornelius as he slowly lit a Cuban cigar.


	25. Chapter 25

_"Twenty-five years and my life is still Trying to get up that great big hill of hope For a destination I realized quickly when I knew I should That the world was made up of this brotherhood of man For whatever that means"_

I knew my voice was off key, but I didn't care.

I was all too happy to sing alongside Linda Perry once more.

Out in the back, Tiny Tim was out cold, covered by a blanket so none of those nosy little busybodies from other cars wouldn't see him. This time, I was driving a different vehicle. I didn't want anyone making note of my SUV.

Besides, I had plenty of different vehicles to choose from.

_"And so I cry sometimes When I'm lying in bed Just to get it all out What's in my head And I, I am feeling a little peculiar And so I wake in the morning And I step outside And I take a deep breath and I get real high And I scream from the top of my lungs What's going on?"_

Admittedly, it'd taken a bit to knock out Tiny Tim. He didn't trust the food I gave him. I had to use a funnel to force feed him, the ungrateful little shit. Here I am, giving him food, clothing and shelter. I'm taking time out of MY busy schedule to keep him alive and well-for the most part. I am seeing to his care and THIS is how he repays me!? I was none too gentle as I dragged him outside to the waiting truck. He had new bruises to add to his collection.

Hopefully, they would be painful.

Out of spite, I repeatedly stepped on his left ankle until I heard it snap.

He groaned in pain in his sleep. He was definitely going to feel it when he woke up. Which made me smirk in anticipation in spite of myself. I couldn't wait to see his reaction. It would make quite the show.

_"And I try, oh my god do I try I try all the time In this institution And I pray, oh my god do I pray I pray every single day For a revolution"_

All of the arrangements have been made. There was no way I was going to let this..._event_ take place back at the cabin. I didn't want anything being traced back to my property.

Who knew if I could take care of all the parties involved?

Some dickhead might get lucky and escape.

It'd only been a day since I got the news from my informant. It was far too soon to realistically expect any news regarding Tiny Tim's kidnapping. But I was chomping at the bit nonetheless. Nothing gives me more pleasure than in making him suffer.

And _seeing_ him suffer.

I was confident my spies would succeed in their latest assignment.

They knew better than to disappoint me.

_"And so I wake in the morning And I step outside And I take a deep breath and I get real high And I scream from the top of my lungs What's going on?"_

I suppressed a sigh. My informant didn't know why the NCIS/FBI task force went out of town. He'd yet to glean their destination. This...didn't please me. I _despised_ unknowns and I needed to know everything about the investigation. I didn't want to leave anything to chance.

I know I'm a clearly superior specimen.

No one was smarter than me, with the glaring exception of my Lord God.

But even stupid people get lucky. Witness Tiny Tim. He just happened to be at the right place at the right time to get hired by Gibbs. Otherwise, a man like Gibbs would never look twice at a pathetic loser like Tiny Tim.

He wasn't worthy of his position.

Hell, he wasn't even worthy of _living_.

_"Twenty-five years and my life is still Trying to get up that great big hill of hope For a destination"_

Frustrated, I pressed the rewind button.

Torturing Tiny Tim took up all of my time.

I refused to let anything impede my quality time with Linda Perry. My Lord God was another problem. There was no indication that He has received my latest present yet.

I really wanted to see His reaction.

To get His holy approval of my actions.

My little spy has yet to glean the reason why He has not reacted to my gift.

As I continued to sing, it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn't _doing enough_ to show my worship and devotion. After all, a series of photographs were hardly noteworthy.

They were a poor substitute for the real thing. There was no way my Lord God would be content with some pictures. Unfortunately, it was far too soon for Him to witness my devotion in person.

In real life.

Fortunately, I had the proper solution carefully secured in a duffle bag:

A video camera.

* * *

Sarah's hand was shaking as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips.

Amanda left on the pretense of getting some coffee from the cafeteria.

In reality, her brother's girlfriend was giving her some much needed privacy. Sarah was grateful as she needed time to process what Penny's doctors were telling her. They were cautiously optimistic about her chances for a complete recovery.

Well, as complete as a _partially paralyzed person_ could get, she mused bitterly.

The fact that Penny was able to move her hand on her own was a good sign.

As the days passed, she was slowly but surely showing more signs of life. She was able to open her eyes briefly after she flexed her fingers. This made Sarah burst into tears yet again. But this time, they were tears of happiness.

She was no longer in a coma.

However, she hasn't opened her eyes since.

But she wasn't slipping dipper into unconsciousness either. She was able to move both of her hands in her sleep. She was muttering, tossing her head from side to side as she dreamed.

Presumably, she was reliving the car crash.

The doctors said her grandmother would most likely wake up anytime now.

But she faced a long road of recovery. The CAT scan revealed there was some brain damage and it would affect her cognitive functions. Poor Penny would face months, possibly _years_, of speech therapy.

Nothing could be done for her paralyzed state.

That was permanent.

Unfortunately.

Sarah felt overwhelmed. While Penny had insurance that would cover everything, she was responsible for choosing the nurses, arranging Penny's appointments and making all the medical decisions for her grandmother.

She was glad Amanda had experience in that arena.

Amanda admitted she had to arrange for live-in care for her great aunt after she had a stroke several years ago.

If there was more damage, the doctors wouldn't be sure until Penny woke up for good.

Sarah hoped not.

She couldn't handle anymore bad news.

She sipped her coffee again. Sarah finally managed to contact NCIS. Unfortunately, there was no update. Tim was still missing. Sarah didn't even know if he was still alive.

Who took her brother?

And why?

Sarah glanced up when she heard a groan coming from her grandmother. She leaned forward hopefully, holding her breath as she stared at Penny's face. When Penny finally opened her eyes, she felt like dancing a little jig as tears of happiness poured down her face.

Then her elation turned into dread as Penny's eyes met hers.

And there was no hint of recognition on her face.

* * *

"It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you." Kort muttered under his breath.

He ran a shaking hand over his head.

Kort was never more glad that he'd trusted his instincts. He had a feeling he was being followed and he was correct. He didn't know who was tracking him. Nor did he care.

All he knew was that he had to get rid of the asshole.

Kort found out a lot of interesting information from his contact.

He had to get this information to Vance as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he'd yet to figure out a safe way to transmit this information. It was VERY sensitive and the shit would really hit the fan if it was intercepted.

Kort knew he was being followed because of his "unofficial investigation".

Which meant a lot of powerful people were invested in keeping the past buried.

He had other contacts to visit. But he had to lose his tail. Kort had no qualms luring the bastard into a trap. It'd been no trick at all to get the drop on him after he followed Kort into a conveniently located alleyway.

He was caught off guard and never saw the attack coming.

Unfortunately, before Kort could question him, the man took a cyanide pill. He died instantly.

Kort carefully looked around. Fortunately, no one was investigating strange noises and he was thankful no one heard the fight or their grunts of exertion. With a grunt, Kort pushed the man onto his back and searched his pockets.

There was a gun, a wallet full of money-which he had no qualms taking for himself-and a prepaid cell phone.

From experience, Kort knew it was unlikely he'd find anything interesting of note on aforementioned cell phone. But he could get lucky and sometimes you could get leads from the most unlikely of places.

So he carefully pocketed the phone.

He also kept the gun.

He brought out the clip and was relieved to see that it was loaded. Kort searched his pockets once more and found his car keys. Then he pocketed his wallet so the man would be considered another John Doe.

With yet another grunt, Kort lifted the man via a fireman's carry.

And tossed his body into a nearby dumpster.

Kort was lucky in that the keys were attached to a fob. So it was no trick to identify the man's car: it was a nondescript, dark blue Chevy Aveyo with tinted windows. Kort unlocked the doors and popped open the trunk.

He didn't find any information as to whom hired this bastard.

There was more money, food and a suitcase full of clothing and toiletries.

Disgusted, Kort left the keys in the ignition. He was thankful he'd been wearing gloves the entire time. This meant he didn't leave any fingerprints behind.

He jogged back to his car and took off.

He had another contact to meet.

* * *

_"Dear Diary,_

_At first, I wanted to get rid of Tim. I came _this close_ to getting rid of the little shit once and for all. John was once again at sea and Penny was out cold._

_Thanks to the sedative I slipped into her wine._

_I was standing over Tim's crib, glaring down at him._

_I was gripping a pillow tightly in my hands. I was prepared to strangle him and pretend his death could be chalked up to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. I knew I could be careful enough not to leave behind any marks._

_Two things stopped me._

_First, I knew Penny would suspect me if anything _untoward_ happened to Tim._

_I knew she wasn't fooled by the myriad "accidents" I suffered during my pregnancy. The bitch was one of the few who was never fooled by my act. She could always see right through me._

_And her husband was influential enough to make trouble if I tried to kill Tim._

_The second thing was an epiphany._

_As I continued to glare at him, it occurred to me that killing him would be _mercy_ on my part. His suffering would end once I got rid of him, just like that._

_No, that won't do._

_That wouldn't do at all._

_He needed to pay._

_After all, he murdered his own twin sister within seconds of being born. I knew he would never be punished by the courts. After all, no one would believe a _baby_ was capable of _murder_._

_It was up to _me_ to punish him._

_To make him pay for his crimes._

_And I couldn't do that if he was dead. So I would stomach my pride and pretend to have a complete turnaround when it came to Tim._

_In other words, I would pretend that I love him._

_Ugh, the very _thought_ made me want to vomit._

_But I'm a good actress. No, scratch that, I am_ excellent _actress.__ After all, it was what I trained for. I'm sure I would be able to fool Penny into thinking I actually care about the piece of shit. It would be worth it in the end if I got rid of the interfering bitch._

_Then I could punish him to my heart's content._

_I couldn't wait._


	26. Chapter 26

AN: Happy One Year Anniversary! Thanks to the people who have reviewed thus far. And the people who follow this story. And the people who marked this story as one of their favorites. Hate to be a bother, but I could use some love right now. If people could give (hopefully positive) reviews, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you!

Hetty put down the diary.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and took deep breaths.

It was difficult, trying to contain her nausea. But she managed thanks to years of training and harsh discipline. She'd never felt so disgusted in her life. Everytime she thought she couldn't get more sickened by this woman, Noelle managed to surprise her yet again.

And not in a good way.

Hetty rubbed her temples to offset a growing headache.

She was no stranger to pain and tragedy. Lord knows the agent under her command suffered their fair share of bullshit over the years.

But what McGee endured was really getting to her.

Hetty glanced around her office.

Thankfully, she was alone. Callen and the rest of the OSP team were racing back to Washington DC with the rest of the NCIS/FBI task force. Danielle Evans recognized the necklace during her Skype session with her younger sister, Krissy.

It was the first real lead they had in weeks.

Krissy was taken into protective custody.

As was her boyfriend, Cole Matthews.

Who'd given her the necklace.

Eric was in his lab, working alongside Nell Jones, going over the videos confiscated from Noelle's storage unit. Hetty was worried about her agents. They'd yet to tell her what Eric showed them. They were experienced agents in their own right.

But something in those videos spooked them but good.

Hetty couldn't bring herself to watch them.

Instead, she became consumed with reading the diary. She was admittedly obsessed with it.

Ever since she was given the diary, she wasn't able to put it down.

Despite herself, Hetty was _fascinated_.

It wasn't often that she got to take an intimate peek into a mind like Noelle's. She was the living embodiment of Jekyll and Hyde. Only Penny Langston was able to see the bitch as she truly was.

Everyone else was fooled by her sweet, sunny and innocent act.

Well that wasn't strictly true.

There was one other person who was never fooled.

McGee.

While Hetty didn't read all of the passages, she did quickly scan the diary. She got little snippets here and there. What she read, made Joan Crawford from the book-and movie-"Mommie Dearest", look like a warm and cuddly teddy bear by comparison.

If only Penny didn't take off!

McGee had no one to defend him!

No one!

His so-called father was just as flaky and self absorbed as his wife.

Hetty took another deep breath to fortify herself. She was about to read yet another page when she got a text from Eric. Apparently, he'd discovered something..._disturbing_ in the videos.

* * *

_Tim cowered in the corner._

_HE left for some reason or another._

_While Tim didn't necessarily _want_ him around, at least this meant he was safe-well safer-when HE was in the area. He shivered. It was always so cold in his cell! Tim was being punished _again_ for showing weakness during yet another "session"._

_In other words, he was naked._

_Only "good little boys" deserved clothes._

_At least he wasn't in the hole. Tim shivered again. He hugged his knees to his chest in a futile attempt to get warmer. He absently rubbed his ear. HE had been harder than usual as he practically wrenched his ear and jerked him closer._

_Tim was surprised he didn't wet himself as HE whispered menacingly in his ear:_

_"I'm going out for a little while." HE said coldly. "Don't you _dare_ move from that spot. If you move, I'll be able to tell. And then you'll really be sorry. Understand?"_

_Tim was too terrified to answer at first._

_HE wrenched his ear again._

_"UNDERSTAND!?" He shouted into his ear, making it ring._

_"Yey-ye-yes, si-si-sir, I u-un-der-st-stand." Tim stuttered._

_HE let out a growl and twisted his ear. "I HATE it when you stutter!"_

_Tim stammered an apology._

_Disgusted, HE let go of his ear and shoved him into the corner. Tim knew better than to disobey. He wasn't going to move from this spot come hell or high water._

_He didn't care that he was hungry and that his bladder was about to explode._

_He knew he was going to get it if he moved._

_Tim stiffened. He really tried to control his bladder, but he couldn't help himself as he failed. He could hear the laughter of hyenas filling the air. Which meant the assistant was coming back for yet another "round"._

_Tim gulped as the metal door slowly opened._

_He winced as the grinding of the rusty metal filled the air. He whimpered and clamped his hands over his ears._

_It was all he could do not to faint as the assistant slowly entered the room. "Oh Timmy!" He screeched in his annoying, high pitched voice. Honestly, it was like he'd swallowed an entire tank of helium or something. "It's time to play!"_

* * *

"Boss!" DiNozzo whined. "I can get my mail by myself!"

It was beyond embarrassing!

DiNozzo couldn't even go into the head by himself! Gibbs had become his shadow. True, DiNozzo was grateful his boss cared. But he didn't need to have his life micromanaged either! He was a grown man for crying out loud! An experienced former cop and senior agent with years of action under his belt! He could take care of himself, dammit!

But try telling that to Gibbs, he mused bitterly.

"I don't care." Gibbs said flatly. "Move it or lose it, DiNozzo! I don't have all day!" Muttering under his breath, DiNozzo exited the passenger side of Gibbs' Charger. He wasn't surprised when he was joined by the former Marine. Apparently, Gibbs wasn't taking any chances with his safety.

Even now, Gibbs was relentlessly scanning their surroundings as they headed for DiNozzo's apartment building, one hand on his SIG Sauer. DiNozzo couldn't help feeling like a celebrity with a bodyguard dogging his every step.

At least he didn't have paparazzi taking thousands of pictures.

Living with Gibbs was weird as well.

Since Gibbs was a total technophobe, there was no Internet connection. He had to make do with Gibbs' old-fashioned TV. It only got so many channels. Even worse, there was no channel that showed Magnum, PI!

The sleeping arrangements also sucked.

Big time.

Gibbs got to sleep on his comfortable bed while HE was stuck with that old-fashioned couch! It was doing murder on his back!

DiNozzo made a mental note to schedule an appointment with a masseuse.

DiNozzo entered his apartment building and headed for his mailbox.

At least there was one bright side to Gibbs' constant presence. Everytime DiNozzo was about to explode with anger, a quick headslap brought him back to earth. It was just as well that he wasn't around when Jordan Kowalski and his pathetic little entourage made their appearance.

DiNozzo's tenuous hold on his temper would've snapped.

And he'd have kicked their sorry asses three ways from Sunday.

It was only due to his years of experience that DiNozzo was able to concentrate on the Frost murder, barely anyway. His worry and anger were increasing.

He knew the statistics about kidnap victims.

The longer they were gone, the less likely they were still alive.

The clock was ticking.

Even though he wasn't on the investigation, DiNozzo was feeling the pressure.

DiNozzo didn't know what the kidnapper was trying to accomplish. If he was so obsessed with DiNozzo, then why kidnap McGee? What was the point of torturing him? What was his game?

It didn't make any sense.

DiNozzo inwardly sighed.

Making matters worse was the fact that there was no time to meet with his contacts. He couldn't do anything with Gibbs watching his every move. Sometimes, it seemed like Gibbs knew DiNozzo better than he knew himself.

Abby claimed that Gibbs had magical powers.

Sometimes, DiNozzo had to wonder if she was right.

DiNozzo unlocked his mailbox and retrieved his mail. He inwardly winced as he realized how much mail had accumulated in the days he'd been gone. With a frustrated sigh, DiNozzo gathered the mail into his arms.

Unbeknownst to him, there was a certain manila envelope in the pile.

* * *

Vance wasn't often surprised.

He'd worked hard to build up his reputation as a hardass.

He'd already sent his kids, Lily and Jared, off to their grandparents. He decided to send them away to safety the moment he began investigating McGee's first kidnapping.

Vance was glad he followed his initial instincts.

That file Kort showed him was still giving him nightmares.

As far as he knew, Kort was still alive. Vance never imagined that he would give a shit whether the bastard was alive or not.

But Kort was vital to this investigation.

They were dealing with powerful, dangerous people.

And powerful, dangerous people had the means and motive to suppress any information that would threaten their lifestyles. Vance's children were his weakness. He would do anything to protect them.

Anything.

Vance felt like he was stretched thin as it was.

It was all he could do to keep Gibbs off the scent. It was vital that Vance keep him busy. Or he would interfere with his investigation.

That couldn't happen.

He was also trying to keep DiNozzo and Bishop contained.

Both were understandably worried about their teammate. But Vance wasn't about to let them take matters into their own hands. Especially DiNozzo. Like Gibbs, he could be a loose cannon.

When you add the fact that Vance had to run a federal agency, one could understand why he didn't have time for anything else.

His schedule was complicated as it was!

Pam sounded weird when she activated her intercom. She was annoyingly vague and refused to identify his visitor. When said visitor entered the room, he suddenly understood her reticence.

Vance made sure his mask was up as he leaned back into his chair and steepled his fingers. "So Miss David, what brings you back to NCIS?"

* * *

He entered his study, pleased.

Cornelius Kowalski knew better than to say a word.

It didn't hurt to have a powerful senator in your pocket. Kowalski had as much to lose as he did if they were ever exposed. Despite his corruptive tendencies, Kowalski believed in keeping his word.

He was an old-fashioned businessman through and through.

Kowalski promised he'd do "whatever it took" to keep the past buried.

While Kowalski wasn't nearly as intelligent as he was, he had experience sweeping things underneath the proverbial rug. Now he just needed to visit the other..._parties_ involved.

They had to be warned.

Not to mention do their part.

After all, they owed him. If it wasn't for him, they would've been exposed a long time ago. It was time to remind those smug assholes that he made them. And he could break them, just as easily.

They weren't the only ones with money and power.

He bellowed at Carruthers that he was not to be disturbed.

Then he closed the double doors behind him and lit a cigar. He'd already dispatched Dennis and his band of mercenaries to take care of his former assistant. This time, he wasn't taking any chances.

Dennis was cold, deadly and efficient.

Even more so than Max.

If they failed, he was going to come up with contingency plans. It'd been a mistake to solely rely on Max, he reflected, taking a long drag. At least Max succeeded in silencing Noelle.

It'd been a mistake on his part to listen to her.

But Noelle had been a veritable tigress in the bedroom.

At the time, it'd seemed like a good deal. He was looking for some weakling that could serve as the guinea pig, the lynchpin of his little experiment. Noelle was desperate to get rid of her pathetic son.

Tim seemed ideal.

Unfortunately, his plans backfired.

Tim was rescued before he could continue. His assistant turned out to be batshit crazy and totally unreliable. At least Noelle was smart enough to keep quiet. Officially, nothing happened. John McGee saw to that. He refused to believe his son.

Insisting he was a liar.

Tim was cowed into keeping his mouth shut.

He took another drag. The other parties who funded his experiment helped with the coverup. They were just as eager to make sure that evidence of Tim's kidnapping never saw the light of day.

He took another drag.

This time, he was going to be more thorough.

If the kidnapper didn't kill Tim, he was going to off the little bastard himself. He wasn't going to take any chances. He made a mental note to send someone after Penny Langston. He knew via his contacts that she'd been in a car accident.

Currently, she was partially paralyzed and she had amnesia.

But she could easily regain her memory.

And _that_ wouldn't do.

It wouldn't do at all.

So he was going to send one of his minions to get rid of the bitch. He would make sure they would know to make it look like an accident. If it was obvious that Penny had been murdered, her death would be investigated thoroughly.

Which meant the risk of exposure increased.

He sat at his desk and tapped his fingers on the mahogany, deep in thought.

Best not to take any chances, he decided.

He buzzed Carruthers. "Get me Richard." He ordered.

It was best to get rid of Penny now, _before_ she remembered everything.


	27. Chapter 27

"I was afraid this might happen."

"What do you mean, Dr. Carver?"

Louis Carver felt sorry for the young woman who was sitting across his desk. While her hair was clean, Sarah's long brown locks were unbrushed. Her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Dr. Carver rubbed at his forehead, a nervous habit he was never able to get rid of.

"Your grandmother sustained quite a blow to the head during her accident, Miss McGee." Dr. Carver explained. "It certainly didn't help that she wasn't wearing her seatbelt. In instances like this, amnesia is quite common, I'm afraid."

"Will she ever regain her memory?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know." Dr. Carver admitted. "It's hard to say as the CAT scan did reveal some brain damage. The best thing you can do for her is talk to her. Show her pictures. Show her objects that she is familiar with. The mind is a very complicated thing, Miss McGee. She might never regain her memory. Or there might be an object or an offhand remark that will trigger her memory. In a way, she is very fortunate."

"Fortunate?" Sarah snapped. "Doctor, my grandmother is partially paralyzed from the waist down. The accident caused her amnesia and she is also suffering from brain damage. In what way, is she fortunate?"

"Forgive me, that was a poor choice of words." Dr. Carver grimaced. "I meant is that her insurance will cover everything: rehab, the live-in nurse, everything she needs to recover."

"But she won't recover fully." Sarah said bitterly.

"No, she won't." Dr. Carver said. "I'm afraid you need to be patient, Miss McGee. Do whatever you can to retrigger her memory."

"I will." It wasn't like she had anything _better_ to do, Sarah mused bitterly.

* * *

John watched with some bitterness as his nurse exited the room.

What a comedown for an admiral, he thought angrily.

It was still hard to believe. Once upon a time, he was a highly decorated admiral with a formidable reputation, on the fast track to joining the Cabinet. Now, he was a walking skeleton, his body destroying him from the inside out. His years of hard work and ambition now meant nothing.

He couldn't even go to the bathroom by himself!

He had to rely on bedpans and catheters!

John knew his cancer wasn't the only problem. His mother was in another hospital, suffering from amnesia, brain damage and being partially paralyzed.

His son had been kidnapped by persons unknown.

Suffering only god knows what.

Don't get him wrong, John loved his son. He didn't want anything to happen to him. But he couldn't help feeling somewhat embarrassed as well.

If Tim were a _true_ McGee, he wouldn't have let himself get kidnapped.

Then again, Tim always displayed a knack for shaming the family.

It wasn't just due to the fact that he wasn't cut out for the Navy, thanks to his seasickness and allergies. Though if John were honest with himself, he felt that a _real_ man would've overcome his weaknesses and joined the Navy anyway, come hell or high water.

No, Tim also showed that he was nothing but a compulsive liar.

As if his longtime friend would do such a horrid thing.

John reached weakly for a cup of water with a shaky hand. He grabbed the straw and took several sips. At least he managed to lay down the law with his weakling son.

Tim knew better than to say a word.

John refused to let the little brat besmirch the reputation of a good man.

John put down the plastic cup with a heavy thud. He had little to look forward to nowadays. Which was why it'd been an unexpected pleasure to see his old friend. It'd been years after all. It'd also been a pleasure to reassure him that Tim hasn't said a word to this day.

The authorities remained oblivious to Tim's odious lies.

John pursed his lips grimly.

He made sure Tim knew better than to..._repeat_ his mistakes. The boy was heavily punished for his temerity. It was more than sufficient to make sure that Tim didn't keep repeating his lies to every Tom, Dick and Harry.

Once Tim was rescued, John vowed to have a few words with his son.

It was high time Tim manned up and stopped embarrassing the family.

John was jolted from his thoughts when the phone rang. He reached weakly for the receiver and pressed it to his ear. It was Sarah.

* * *

_"Dear Diary,_

_Tim is such a wimp._

_Even as I'm writing, he's crying. He's been doing nothing but crying for the past three hours!_

_All he has to do is stare at the corner._

_Of course, it doesn't help that he's naked._

_Or that his little ass is redder than a lobster._

_Or that his back is full of angry looking marks._

_But he deserves it._

_It's part of his punishment,_  
_after all._

_He's lucky I haven't killed him._

_But it's difficult. Everytime I stare at him, the _urge_ is there._

_To wring his neck._

_Or plunge a dagger into his back._

_Or to slit his throat._

_Only the reminder that he won't suffer if he's dead stays my hand._

_I have to admit, I take a lot of pleasure in making the little shit suffer._

_It feels so _damn good_._

_Penny is no longer a problem. I don't have to pretend to love the little bastard anymore._

_My dear father in law got into a car accident._

_Guess who gets to nurse him 24/7._

_Why, my stupid bitch of a mother in law,_  
_of course!_

_John is away at sea, as usual. In fact,_  
_he's buried himself in his career._

_The little pissant can't handle the fact that our daughter is dead. He isn't strong like me._

_At least I have the balls to do something about it and punish the person responsible._

_John is too much of a pussy to do so._

_Before he left, John and I had a long discussion._

_In the end, we decided not to tell Tim about his dead twin sister._

_In that we are united._

_To this day, it is too painful to talk about her, much less think about her._

_In the meantime, at least I have a convenient outlet for my grief and anger walking around._

_If you'll excuse me Diary, I have to punish my weak, stupid and recalcitrant son._

_He just disobeyed and glanced at me over his shoulder!"_

Hetty took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. It was sickening, reading about how much abuse poor McGee was enduring behind closed doors. And no one suspected a thing. Not even his grandmother!

She poured herself a cup of weak tea.

Ever since she started reading the diary, she had trouble keeping anything down.

She could only hope and pray the task force got a big break in the case from Krissy Evans and Cole Matthews. Hetty hoped the kidnapper did something stupid.

Or something careless, at the very least.

While Hetty didn't know McGee very well, she was developing a soft spot for him.

She'd already lost her lunch after Eric showed her disturbing footage from those videos. As if what McGee was enduring now wasn't bad enough!

Apparently, McGee had been kidnapped before.

And the sick fucks were demented enough to record everything.

What was really sickening was the fact that Noelle had such videos. Apparently, she got off on her son's pain and suffering. Hetty retreated to her office in a futile effort to regain her composure.

She felt a sudden urge to read that diary.

A decision she was rapidly coming to regret.

Hetty was jolted from her thoughts when the phone rang. After she answered, she raised an eyebrow.

It was Vance.

* * *

Many hours later, it was dark outside.

No one gave him another glance.

As far as they were concerned, he was just another orderly. He'd watched from the shadows as a lovely redhead dragged a pretty brunette to the cafeteria. While he didn't know who the redhead was, he knew the identity of the brunette.

She was the granddaughter of his target.

It wasn't difficult to find her room.

The security in this hospital really sucked, he couldn't help thinking as he tiptoed into her room. The bed adjacent to her target was empty.

So it was no trick at all to grab the pillow.

He wasn't worried about leaving fingerprints behind, as he was wearing gloves.

He glanced over his shoulder one more time. The coast was clear. Resolutely, he walked towards her bed. He gave her a quick perusal. Unfortunately, she was still alive, as evidenced by the rise and fall of her chest.

Something he was going to rectify, he thought determinedly as he slowly lowered the pillow towards her face...


	28. Chapter 28

Cole Matthews was confused.

What was going on?

Why had he been brought to NCIS?

Hell, he didn't even know what NCIS _was_!

One minute, he was tending to his chores. The next minute, he was asked to come to some federal agency he'd never even heard of. They threatened him with arrest if he tried to resist. They refused to tell him why they were bringing him in, either.

On the way to the interrogation room, Cole happened to pass by his girlfriend, Krissy Evans. He tried calling out to her, but the suits hurried him along.

Krissy tried to shout something in return.

But her escorts weren't letting her say a word either.

Cole was shoved into an interrogation room with dim lighting. Then the door was locked after the agents once they left. He didn't know how much time has passed.

He never wore a watch.

Sometimes, Cole would sit at the interrogation table.

Or he would pace restlessly back and forth, unable to sit still.

Now Cole was sitting at the table, wracking his brains, trying to determine what he'd done to pique the interest of federal agents. He kept on drawing a blank.

Cole came from an ordinary family.

He never broke the law, smoked or did any drugs.

Hell, the most offensive thing he'd done was get a speeding ticket last month. And he already paid the fine, thank you very much! He knew Krissy worked for a federal agency. But she never shared any information with him. Everything was _hush hush_ as far as her work was concerned.

Cole rubbed at his eyes, feeling tired all of a sudden.

He'd wasted his energy pacing restlessly throughout the small room.

He was jolted from his thoughts when the door finally opened. One man had thinning white hair and dark eyes that betrayed his fatigue. The other man was taller and younger. He had dirty blond hair and hardened blue eyes. He had an aura that all but screamed "don't fuck with me" and Cole had no intentions of doing so.

"Good evening, Mr. Matthews." The older man grabbed his badge from within his suit jacket and displayed it. Despite the jocularity in his tone, Cole wasn't fooled by it one bit. He knew when someone was trying to feed him a line or lull him into a false sense of security. "I'm Agent Fornell, FBI. This is my associate, NCIS Agent Callen." Callen displayed his own badge as Cole briefly shifted his gaze to him. Then he returned his gaze to Fornell, watching as both men sat across from him. "We'd like to ask you some questions about a certain necklace." Cole's eyes widened in disbelief as Fornell slid a picture across the table.

It featured the very necklace he'd given Krissy.

* * *

Ziva David was thankful that Tony DiNozzo was not at NCIS when she arrived.

She was able to leave and Vance promised to keep his mouth shut.

Even now, it was hard for her, being back at NCIS. This only brought back painful memories of her estranged father, Eli David, being murdered. But she didn't have a choice. Both NCIS and Mossad were chasing after the same man.

Although she did find it ironic that Kort, of all people, was willing to work with them.

Ziva never wanted to return to the United States.

Don't get her wrong, she still loved DiNozzo.

But there was a good reason she remained in Israel. She needed to find herself again. She felt like she lost herself after her father was murdered. Rejoining Mossad was the first step.

She was furious when the director assigned her this mission.

Since it meant confronting NCIS and the painful memories associated with it.

However, Ziva knew she would never be able to move on if she kept running. Besides, she had it on good authority that her former teammate, Timothy McGee, had been kidnapped. She considered him a good friend and surrogate brother.

And she wanted to do her part to save his life.

Ziva took a taxi back to her hotel, deep in thought.

Even though she was in another country entirely, Ziva couldn't help herself when she looked in on DiNozzo from time to time. She'd been heartbroken to learn that he eventually gave up on her and moved on.

She knew he still kept her old Star of David necklace in one of his desk drawers.

But she knew he had a new girlfriend.

Ava Fowler was a blonde-haired bombshell that DiNozzo met during a case several months earlier. But she wasn't some bimbo he'd picked up at a bar. Ava was a witness to a murder at the law firm she was employed in. She was a successful, high profile attorney. DiNozzo was assigned to her for protection after she witnessed the murder of some petty officer who'd been a client of hers.

The attraction was mutual and immediate.

After the case was resolved, they started going out.

If her source was correct, the relationship was starting to get serious. Ziva wasn't petty enough to interfere with DiNozzo's new relationship. But she wasn't going to lie to herself either.

It hurt, knowing he'd moved on.

It hurt a _lot_.

Admittedly, it was her own fault. She could've returned to DiNozzo and NCIS. They could've started a relationship. But it was her choice to remain in Israel.

Sometimes, you had to live with the consequences of your actions.

Ziva was jolted from her reverie when her taxi stopped at her hotel.

She paid for her fare and retreated to her room. Ziva stiffened, becoming alert instantaneously as she noted the opened door. Hotel rooms were supposed to lock automatically behind you and she distinctly remembered closing hers.

Ziva carefully withdrew her gun and slid along the wall.

Slowly and carefully approaching the room.

Once she reached the door, she pivoted on her heel and kicked it the rest of the way open. She had her gun ready in case there was an attack. Ziva cautiously made her way throughout the room, holding her gun out in front of her. She checked behind the door, underneath the bed, the closet, the bathroom. But there was no one there.

However, it was more than obvious someone had been in her room.

The dresser drawers were open.

The blankets and sheets were strewn all over the floor. The contents of her suitcase had been rifled through. But that wasn't the scariest part.

There was a folded up piece of paper waiting for her on the desk.

Her name was written almost carelessly on its face in cursive handwriting.

Ziva slowly approached the piece of paper and picked it up. When she unfurled it and read the note, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

It read simply, _"I know you're here"_.

But what really chilled her was the Nazi symbol on the lower right hand corner.

* * *

He paused in the middle of lowering the pillow.

He felt like smacking his forehead.

Smothering the bitch would make it too _obvious_ that she'd been murdered! The boss had made it clear that it was supposed to look like she died of natural causes. And he didn't need to be a rocket scientist to know that being smothered wasn't a natural cause of death.

Idiot.

He was lucky that he stopped himself in time.

He shuddered to think of the consequences if he disobeyed his orders in the slightest fashion. He sighed regretfully as he returned the pillow to the other bed. He made sure it looked like the pillow was never moved in the first place. It wouldn't do if people realized that someone else had been in he room. But he _really _regretted the fact that he couldn't murder her.

To him, there was nothing more satisfying than feeling someone die under your own hands. It gave him such a rush that he felt godlike everytime he did it.

Knowing that he had someone's life in the palms of his hands.

Literally.

Oh well, he mused.

You can't win them all.

Carefully, he reached over and withdrew the sensor that monitored her heart rate from her finger. Then he quickly placed it on his own finger.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a syringe.

He screwed off the top and pushed the plunger to expel a little excess liquid.

He got this idea from watching the 2006 version of the movie, "The Omen". He was going to inject something into her IV line to make it look like she'd suffered from an air embolism.

Considering how many medications had been injected into her already, no one would think anything malicous occurred if she had an air embolism. This happened more often than the hospitals wanted you to think.

It was a conspiracy.

But that very conspiracy would work in his favor, he mused happily as he stabbed the IV line with the needle and carefully pushed the plunger, injecting the contents of the needle inside.

* * *

"Are you sure?" I asked with gritted teeth. I gripped the cell phone so tightly, my knuckles were turning white. I listened as the doctor continued to blather on and on. I suddenly saw red. With a roar of rage, I hung up the phone and threw it across the room. The phone hit the far wall and fell to the floor in a dozen pieces.

I was too angry to give a shit.

Besides, I could easily buy another one.

I took a deep breath to calm down. As I seethed, I could only conclude this was Tiny Tim's fault. My Lord God was obviously angry. As a result, I was being punished.

Which was miserably unfair.

Haven't I done enough to show my devotion?

My worship?

My respect?

Apparently not.

This meant I wasn't going far enough.

In any event, it didn't matter. I was now under a limited amount of time and the clock was ticking. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. How was I supposed to spread the Word of God if something happened to me?

I was the only person enlightened enough to see the truth.

Unfortunately, the lesser mortals wouldn't agree.

Bah.

Those unworthy peons weren't fit to lick my boots.

I peeked into the room. Tiny Tim was unfortunately busy, so I couldn't punish him accordingly. I knew he was suffering, but it wasn't enough. I was starting to wonder if it would _ever_ be enough.

For that moment that was neither here nor there.

I had to act quickly.

I quickly ran to my vehicle and took off. What I learned from the bastard doctor changed everything. What if time ran out before I could enact my final plan?

As unfortunate as it was, I had to speed up the timetable.

Which meant less suffering for Tiny Tim.

Oh, the things I do in the name of my Lord God. I had to keep on reminding myself that it was necessary. How else would I be able to enter the kingdom of glory? My Lord God only let those enter whom He deems worthy, after all.

It would be beyond mortifying to find myself lowered to _Tiny Tim's_ level.

Fortunately, I had a solution in mind.

Tiny Tim wasn't the only person to sully my Lord God with their putrid presence. I know that they had the temerity and unmitigated, blasphemous _arrogance_ to hurt Him. Like Tiny Tim, they had to suffer. They had to be punished.

And I knew precisely how to do it.


	29. Chapter 29

There it was.

Lying innocently on Gibbs' coffee table.

Mocking him with its silence.

DiNozzo was sitting on the horns of a dilemma.

He was thankful that Gibbs went downstairs to work on his boat. After hours of work with little progress to speak of, Gibbs decided to dismiss his team. They would report to work tomorrow at 0800 hours. Gibbs and DiNozzo were too restless to sleep.

So Gibbs poured himself some bourbon and retreated downstairs.

DiNozzo decided to sort through his mail.

There had been the usual bills, magazines and catalogs. DiNozzo was also happy to get a postcard from his girlfriend, Ava Fowler. She was enjoying a vacation in Hawaii.

Lucky girl.

Unfortunately, DiNozzo's content mood didn't last.

There was yet another manila envelope waiting for him. As usual, there was no return address. It had a different postmark and his address was written in big block letters with black marker.

So the possibility of identifying the kidnappers' handwriting went right out the window.

Again.

DiNozzo felt conflicted.

Did he turn over the envelope to Fornell and his cronies? Or did he risk his job, freedom and reputation by opening the envelope. On one hand, this wasn't his case. On the other hand, this was his friend and partner he was talking about.

DiNozzo didn't know what to do.

Should he open the envelope or not?

The only sound came from the old fashioned clock resting sedately on Gibbs' mantel. It continued to tick away, the sound growing louder in his ears.

DiNozzo couldn't help feeling like the main character in Edgar Allen Poe's infamous story, "The Telltale Heart". He felt like clamping his hands over his ears as he glared at the clock.

It continued to tick away, unconcerned with his futile glares.

Growing louder and louder.

DiNozzo wanted to scream, "Make it stop!"

But that would only alert Gibbs.

DiNozzo reached out with a hand to open the envelope, but then he hesitated.

He flinched as he remembered a case from his rookie days as a cop in Baltimore. Unthinkingly, he opened a kidnapper's ransom letter at a crime scene. His supervisor all but tore him a new asshole as it was possible that thanks his bungling, valuable forensic evidence had just been lost.

DiNozzo felt lower than dirt when his supervising officer later turned out to be right.

Resolutely, DiNozzo suppressed the urge to open the envelope.

Then he jogged downstairs to the basement to inform Gibbs of what he'd received in the mail.

* * *

Molly Henderson cursed as she glanced at her watch.

She was going to be late.

It was a bitch, working the midnight shift at a Mobil gas station. But she desperately needed the money. She'd been very dissatisfied with her career as of late.

Until recently, she was a teacher at a local high school.

But Molly was sick and tired of teaching a bunch of spoiled, entitled children.

Her mother, Lily Henderson, said she was crazy. But Molly felt like she needed to start over. She'd just gotten a divorce from her husband of three years, Derek Parker, who had sole custody of their daughter, Rose. She decided to take back her maiden name after the divorce was official.

Their divorce was as amicable as it could be.

They remained good friends and she had her daughter every other weekend.

Molly didn't contest the current custodial arrangements. She was extremely busy with med school and working two jobs. During the day, she was a waitress at a local coffee shop.

But her schedule was unpredictable thanks to her classes.

She worked the midnight to four a.m. shift at Mobil.

Sure, it cut into her study time and sleeping hours. But her savings and loans only went so far. Her parents refused to help out with her education. Molly didn't blame them as they'd been of tremendous help to her when she was getting a teaching degree.

Thank God for Derek.

Her ex husband was tremendously understanding and gave her help when she needed it. It helped that he owned his own landscaping business and could work from home.

Even though she remained on good terms with her ex, her heart was bruised.

Divorces were never easy.

Lord knew, she had firsthand experience. Lily and her ex, Philip Henderson, went through a bitter, acrimonious divorce. They fought over every last penny. They also fought like cats and dogs when it came to custody of Molly and her little sister, Gina.

Molly rushed as fast as she could to her rusty dark blue mini Cooper.

Sure, it was a piece of shit, but it was all she could afford.

She also occupied a tiny studio apartment in the seedier part of Baltimore. But it wasn't like she was swimming in dough nowadays. She didn't have a giant money bin like Scrooge McDuck did in the old cartoon, "Duck Tales".

Molly ran even faster after checking her watch again.

Damn Professor Hill!

Frank Hill was a longwinded SOB who liked to wax poetic for hours. His lectures never ended at a predictable time, to his students' eternal annoyance. Molly's only thought was on reaching her car so she could make it to her shift on time.

Her manager was an anal retentive bastard who was big on punctuality.

She was too preoccupied to realize she was being followed.

Molly never saw it coming. The last thing she felt was a sharp pain on the back of her head before everything went black.

And she collapsed like a house of cards.

* * *

What was that bastard up to?

Isabelle Kowalski no qualms tailing her cheating husband.

She wondered why it bothered her so much. It wasn't like Isabelle herself was faithful. But at least she wasn't stupid enough to get caught. She couldn't believe her husband was screwing Gloria Jenkins, her archrival from high school.

Besides, no one cheated on Isabelle Elizabeth Devereaux Kowalski and got away with it.

No one.

What was he doing?

Driving to his longtime piece of ass?

Normally, Isabelle wouldn't give a damn about what he was up to.

There was no love lost between them and Isabelle only married him for his millions. However, he was already planning on transferring his assets to accounts that only he had access to. She'd overheard him talking his lawyer, Beaumont Kramer.

He was also threatening to reduce her allowance.

That wouldn't do.

That wouldn't do at all.

Isabelle was used to living the high life and she refused to let her social climber of a husband threaten her livelihood. She deserved nothing but the best. Her parents always treated her like a princess.

If Cornelius knew what was good for him, he would let sleeping dogs lie.

Unfortunately, he was too stupid to realize that rocking the boat was dangerous.

Hence the reason she was following him. Isabelle hoped to get enough dirt on her husband to get him to change his mind. Which was why she'd brought her camera and recording equipment.

She also brought a gun for protection.

She'd always been a daddy's girl.

She inherited her passion for hunting from her father, Oswald Devereaux. Isabelle's brow furrowed as Cornelius drove to Georgetown. While it was true he was a senator, Cornelius preferred to do his wheeling and dealing in Louisville or on Capitol Hill.

Last time she checked, Gloria Jenkins didn't live in DC.

Much less Georgetown.

Her eyes widened as he watched him park at a stately townhouse in a quiet neighborhood. Cornelius and his friends were creatures of habit. But he hasn't visited this particular friend in years.

Isabelle didn't know the particulars.

All she knew was that Cornelius had a falling out with two old friends in the early days of their marriage.

Cornelius was nothing if not stubborn.

And consistent.

If he said he wasn't going to speak to you again, he meant it.

So why was he breaking his word?

Why was he visiting a hated fellow senator? Rodney Chalmers was a senator from South Carolina. He had a secondary residence in Georgetown, presumably because he had family here.

But Isabelle knew it was because his current mistress lived nearby.

Isabelle was thankful she'd planted a bug in Cornelius' suit.

She parked out of sight as she activated her recording equipment and snuck out of her car. She was wearing a disguise and a black wig to disguise her blonde hair. It was too bad she was so intent on taking damming photographs. Otherwise, she would've heard the shock of a lifetime as her recording equipment did its job. When she would listen to aforementioned conversation later, Isabelle would finally realize what her husband was capable of and the depths he would sink to, to ensure his powerbase was never threatened and that his reputation remained as clean as a whistle.

* * *

_Despite what was about to happen, Ducky was as cheerful as ever._

_He was clad in his customary hospital scrubs with a white mask over his face._

_Gibbs was standing nearby. As usual, his expression was unreadable and he had his arms crossed over his chest._

_Tim was on the other side._

_For once, the entire team was present. DiNozzo had a slight smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Ziva was in her "Mossad" mode as her expression was even more stoic than Gibbs'._

_"...is fascinating." Ducky was saying. "You rarely get a case like this." He had a scalpel in his hand as he perused the body gracing the Autopsy table. "Why, I haven't seen something like this since my early days as a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps. In fact-"_

_As usual, Gibbs looked annoyed because Ducky tended to ramble. He opened his mouth to say: "Move it along, Duck!"_

_"Ahem." Ducky cleared his throat. "Sorry about that."_

_"What's the cause of death?" Gibbs asked._

_Before Ducky could say anything, there was an ear-splitting noise. Tim looked around, confused. For some reason, the others weren't bothered by the sound._

_In fact, they were acting like nothing was going on._

_Ducky's lips were moving, but Tim couldn't hear a thing._

_He didn't understand what was going on. Tim clamped his hand over the ears, but the loud music continued. Or at least, it was posing as music. He glanced at Gibbs again. Why was the former Marine allowing Abby to play her music in Autopsy?_

_How come the others were acting like they didn't even hear the music?_

Slowly but surely, Tim was coming to his senses.

Eventually, he realized that he was dreaming. He felt like he was swimming in a sea of sluggishness and that his ears were stuffed full of cotton. His head was throbbing like a bitch in tune with the pulsating beats coming from the boombox.

As he gained more clarity, the pain returned with a vengeance.

Tim hissed and gritted his teeth.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. He hissed again as the light pierced his eyes.  
He had to blink a few times as dark spots danced in his vision. Once his vision cleared and headache became more tolerable, Tim slowly and carefully glanced around.

Sure enough, he was still in the different hellhole his kidnapper dumped him in.

At least he was alone this time around.

Tim ruthlessly shoved those memories aside. He had to think of a way out of here. But how? There were no weapons around. His wrists were secured behind his back with thick handcuffs and he certainly wasn't Mark Sheridan from the film, "U.S. Marshals".

His ankles were secured as well.

Tim suppressed a rude snort.

Even if he wasn't bound, it wasn't like he could move around much. His left leg was still a mess and his left ankle was broken. Tim glanced around again. There was nothing he could use to try and unlock the handcuffs.

Tim stiffened as the door opened.

He tried not to whimper as THEY slowly sauntered towards him.

He didn't like the look in their eyes. Despite his best efforts, visions of his past kidnapping flashed before his eyes. They had the same look as HIS assistant. The only good thing was they didn't laugh like hyenas.

But he remembered everything the assistant would tauntingly whisper in his ear.

His foul breath would wash over him.

Tim could still remember that vile odor to this day. It smelled of a weird combination of onions, garlic and rotting flesh. It was why he vomited the first time he'd seen a corpse at his first NCIS crime scene. He was getting flashbacks of the assistant and what that bastard did to him.

He would wince everytime the assistant would whisper in his ear.

He never liked the sensation of the assistant's foul air washing over him.

It made him feel dirty.

Polluted.

And that he needed to take a thousand showers just to get rid of the scent.

It never helped that the assistant would trail those fingers lingeringly over his exposed skin. Tim would shudder everytime that happened. It felt like a spider was crawling all over his body.

The assistant never bothered to wash his hands either.

So Tim had to endure the sight of those yellow, rotting fingernails.

The fingernails weren't normal. They were carved into sharp points. The assistant would give him an insane, menacing grin as he dragged those same nails over his pale flesh. Giving him sharp scratches. But the assistant was very careful.

As the scratches weren't sharp enough to bleed.

The assistant called their moments together "playtime".

When he began, he would whisper the same phrase into his ear. Tim had nightmares of those same words to this day as they were burned into his memory:

_"Timmy is going to be a good boy, isn't he? Timmy is going to make Uncle...feel good!"_

* * *

_ "Camptown ladies sing a song_

_ Doo dah, doo Dah_

_ Camptown racetrack five miles long_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

I was in a good mood as I stuffed the bitch into the trunk of my car. Thankfully, there were no witnesses when I knocked her out.

I shoved her into the passenger seat of her mini Cooper and drove to a deserted parking lot only a few blocks away.

Where my vehicle was waiting.

_ "Come here with my hat caved in _

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ Come back home with a pocket full of tin_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

Ah, Camptown Ladies.

It was one of my favorite little diddies.

So I couldn't help myself as I all but skipped to the driver's seat. Despite what my bastard doctor told me, I decided I wasn't going to let this stop me. I had huge plans for this sorry cunt. She was going to help me whether she liked it or not.

_ "Going to run all night_

_ Going to run all day_

_ Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag_

_ Somebody bet on the bay"_

My grin threatened to split my face as I slid behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. It was amazingly easy to track her down. The stupid bitch never bothered to change her name_._

Women_._

They were so stupid.

So predictable.

Thankfully, the dump where I'd temporarily placed Tiny Tim was close by. Snatching her up was a cinch!

_ "The long tailed filly and the big black hoss_

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ They fly the track, they both cut across_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

She wasn't even aware of her surroundings! Even an idiot with half a brain would know you have to be wary at night. Who knows what could happen to you, especially if you were a member of the weaker sex. Unfortunately for her-and fortunately for me-common sense didn't even occur to her.

She was far more preoccupied with her insipid little plans for the evening.

_ "The Black hoss stickin' in a big mud hole_

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ Can't touch the bottom with a ten foot pole_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

I stopped at a red light.

I was tempted to continue with my plans.

But I didn't want to run into a patch of bad luck. If I tried that the chances would increase of something going wrong. Sometimes, it was better to quit while you were ahead.

I happily resumed singing as the light turned green.

_ "Going to run all night_

_ Going to run all day_

_ Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag_

_ Somebody bet on the bay"_

She should be out for a good many hours. Before I knocked her out, I injected her with a heavy sedative. Which was a good thing, as I didn't want to hear her screams for help. Not yet, anyway.

That would come later, when no one was around to hear the bitch.

_ "Old mulely cow come on to the track_

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ The bob-tailed throwed her over his back_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

My Lord God must be pleased with me. I didn't run into a single cop and at this time of night, there weren't a lot of cars around. To me, this just confirmed that I was doing the right thing.

_ "They fly along like a railroad car_

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ Running a race with a shooting star_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

I knew that I had to be cautious. I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch and all that jazz. But I was confident that I would succeed. After all, my superior intellect was nothing to scoff at.

_ "Going to run all night_

_ Going to run all day_

_ Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag_

_ Somebody bet on the bay"_

Obviously, I won't take her to the same location where Tiny Tim currently resides. No, I would take her back to the cabin. However, I was going to place her in a dungeon far away from Tiny Tim's.

While both of them were stupid, I'm not taking any chances. There was no sense in having the two meet and work together to escape.

_ "See them flying on a ten mile heat_

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ Round the racetrack then repeat_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

I tapped my fingers in rhythm. True, this song wasn't quite as good as "What's _goin on", _but I needed _something_ to cheer me up. It wouldn't do to dwell on the doctor's prognosis_._

Or I would get depressed.

And I couldn't afford to get depressed.

_ "I win my money on the bob-tailed nag_

_ Doo dah, doo dah_

_ I keep my money in an old tow bag_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_

After all, I wasn't doing this for my selfish pleasures. No, it would be an insult to everything my Lord God stood for. How could I perform holy works in His name if I let my baser emotions and desires get the better of me?

My jaw firmed as I took to the highway.

No, I wasn't _human._

I was _above_ those letter mortals.

Those _peons__._

True, I took honest pleasure in Tiny Tim's suffering. But he wasn't enduring pain and torture just to satisfy my whims. No, his pain served a higher purpose. _Everything_ I did, I did in the Name of my Lord God.

I needed to spread the word_. _So everyone would know the divine might of the One and True God, Anthony DiNozzo _Jr. _ Molly Henderson would serve a purpose as well. She just didn't know it yet.

_ "Going to run all night_

_ Going to run all day_

_ Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag_

_ Somebody bet on the bay_

_ Oh the doo dah day"_


	30. Chapter 30

"NCIS! FREEZE!" Callen and Sam yelled at the same time.

"FBI! FREEZE!" Fornell and Sacks shouted a minute later. All four agents had their guns poised and ready as they glared at the suspsect. They let their training and experience take over as they slowly and cautiously circled the suspect.

"Put your hands in the air and turn around." Callen ordered coldly.

The suspect complied.

At first, the agents couldn't register what they were seeing. All four of them had seen fucked up situations in the past, but this really took the cake. Callen felt like throwing up the breakfast burrito he'd consumed as his stomach started to churn.

Sacks' face was marred by an expression of acute disgust and disbelief.

Fornell didn't look any better as he unknowingly dropped his professional mask.

"Aw, man." Sam muttered. "That ain't right!"

Callen couldn't agree more.

FLASHBACK-TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER

_"About fucking time." Aaron Jones muttered to himself. "Thought the old bastard would _never_ leave."_

_Aaron's mind raced as he finally left his hiding spot._

_He'd peered around the edge of the barn, tapping his foot impatiently._

_He'd been waiting in the damn cold for nearly twenty minutes. Just as he was about to lose his patience, Hiram Jones, his father, _finally_ emerged from the house. Hiram was a creature of habit._

_Every Wednesday morning, at precisely 10 am, Hiram would drive to the nearest town for supplies. Fortunately for Aaron, the Jones farm was so isolated, the closest town was practically two hours away. The farm hands would take advantage and go to their quarters to drink beer and host their weekly poker game._

_In other words, he practically had the entire farm to himself._

_He didn't have to worry about his mother interfering._

_Agatha Jones died a long time ago, when he was only ten years old. Aaron muttered "come on, __come on" under his breath as his father slowly lumbered to the family truck. His upper lip curled._

_His father was so old and slow, it was pathetic._

_Aaron shifted his weight from foot to foot, repeatedly checking his watch and muttering under his breath, mentally willing his father to hurry the fuck up. He eyed the sky in gratitude when his father finally opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel._

_Then he realized he thanked God prematurely._

_The Jones truck was a fickle thing._

_Sometimes it started, sometimes it wouldn't. Aaron wished his cheap-ass father would finally put the damn thing out to pasture and buy a new truck. But that was like asking for the sky to turn purple._

_In other words, he would be asking for the impossible._

_As Hiram Jones was cheaper than Ebeneezer Scrooge._

_The engine kept sputtering and dying. Aaron was about to whimper in frustration. If the truck refused to work, his father would give up and go back inside. Which would be disastrous for his plans._

_Aaron was about to give up and head back inside when the damn engine _finally_ turned over._

_He leaped for joy when his father began to drive away._

_Aaron was prudent. He checked to make sure the farm hands were preoccupied with their game. __Sure enough, the game had already started and the liquor was flowing. Rubbing his hands with glee, __Aaron headed for the pen housing the sheep._

_His eyes gleamed with lust and longing as he took in his "little darlings"._

_Aaron made a face._

_How could his father possibly expect him to get married? Everytime Aaron pictured himself trying to fuck a woman, he wanted to vomit. Aaron had no use for women. They were shrill, demanding harpies with nothing but air between their ears._

_He couldn't stomach the sight of their curvy bodies, tits and legs._

_No, he didn't want to fuck any woman at all._

_Aaron quickly glanced around to make sure the coast was clear. He was especially on the lookout for his father. Sometimes, the truck would break down and his father would walk back to the farm to force his son or one of the farm hands to check on the truck and diagnose the problem._

_Not surprisingly, the old bastard was too cheap to visit a mechanic._

_Luck was on his side._

_He was the only person around._

_Good._

_He didn't notice the cold or falling snow as he climbed over the fence. There was one sheep he favored over the others. He was inspired by the old Woody Allen film, "Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex, (But Were Afraid to Ask)"._

_Aaron could sympathize with Gene Wilder's character, Dr. Ross._

_Not surprisingly, he named his favorite sheep, Daisy._

_Using some food, he gently coaxed Daisy away from the herd. He glanced over his shoulder. In his mind, the sheep were glaring in jealousy. "Now, now, girls." Aaron gently chided them. "There is more than enough of me to go around. I'll get to all of you soon enough."_

_That seemed to placate them, for now._

_Aaron led Daisy to an abandoned pen he converted for his own use._

_His grandfather used it a long time ago. It was no longer practical, so his stern, __no-nonsense father let it rot. This suited Aaron just fine. It was out of sight from the rest of the farm and no one but him came to his area anymore._

_This allowed him to have his _fun_ in peace._

_Trembling with excitement, Aaron carefully leashed Daisy to a nearby tree._

_He used treats to keep her still as he reached inside an old crate and pulled out a duffle bag. He unzipped the bag and pulled out his favorite costume. It was a bit of a trick, getting her into the costume, but he had long practice._

_He began to drool and he could feel his body reacting._

_Impatiently, he started to undress, practically tearing off his clothes._

_He was just about to get started when he heard several shouts._

END FLASHBACK

Callen couldn't help it.

He could only shake his head.

Jones had jumped to his feet, clearly startled as he turned to face the agents. He obediently put his hands in the air, his face paling the sight of the guns. He immediately lost control over his bowels.

What was worse, was that they were witnessing it as it happened.

Because Jones was stark naked.

This was more of a suspect than Callen ever wanted to see. Even worse, Jones was balding, pudgy, extremely hairy and he had substandard..._equipment_ where it counted. You would need a magnifying glass to see anything of note.

But that wasn't the worst part.

It was more than obvious Jones was the living cliche of those who lived on a farm.

At his feet was a docile sheep who was in full S &amp; M gear. She even had a ball gag in her mouth!

"Put your hands behind your head and don't make any sudden movements." Sam warned.

Gulping, Jones complied.

Jones was taken into custody without incident. The agents scoured the area and found the farm hands passed out drunk in their quarters. Fornell ordered a nearby flunky to get the farmhands into detox and to locate Jones' father, Hiram Jones.

The flunky nodded and took off.

Sam and Sacks accompanied the hapless Aaron Jones back to NCIS headquarters.

Other flunkies were securing the entire farm with yellow crime scene tape. Callen and Fornell got their cameras ready. Kensi and Deeks began bagging and tagging evidence. Callen couldn't help hoping this would pan out.

This was their only lead.

* * *

Kort wanted to curse.

He was being followed again.

Kort was an experienced CIA agent. He'd definitely seen a lot of shit on the job. But he could safely say this was easily the most dangerous case he'd ever undertaken. He couldn't help but wonder how deep into the rabbit hole he would go.

Or how high up in the government this bullshit ran.

At least his contact revealed interesting information.

Apparently, his quarry had an accomplice. No that wasn't the right word. This guy was his master. But he'd been smart enough not to attract any attention. Instead, he quietly faded into the background.

Unfortunately, his contact didn't know anything of use.

Like the man's name or background.

But at least he had evidence the bastard existed in the first place. Unfortunately, this was the only bit of good news Kort received. His contact was leery of digging too deeply. This meant that whomever this master was, he had pretty deep pockets.

And many contacts within the government.

As his contact never faced shut doors or tightly closed lips, until now.

The bad news kept coming. Kort was still hanging onto the information. There wasn't time to send the information to Vance. He couldn't find a safe place either. Everytime he turned around, he ran into bastards who were following him for some reason.

He had to use every trick in his arsenal to elude them.

Whoever these guys were, they were good.

Too good for Kort's liking.

If his ass wasn't on the line, he'd admire them.

Kort cursed underneath his breath. He hadn't slept or ate properly in days. This wasn't good as he felt his stamina decreasing. He needed to find a safe place where he could crash.

But where was the operative word.

If he continued to run on empty, he would become sloppy and make mistakes.

Something that he could ill afford this late in the game.

Fortunately, Vance came through.

It took a bit of chicanery, but Vance managed to send him a carefully encrypted text. He promised he was sending someone "trustworthy" to assist Kort in his search. It took some wrangling and dealing, but they finally settled on the meeting taking place in some small town.

Vance's man would know Kort by the new disguise he'd donned.

And they would exchange code words to verify the other's identity.

He was jolted from his thoughts when an old fashioned convertible with the top up pulled in front of him. Kort inwardly tensed. Outwardly, he appeared relaxed as he nonchalantly approached the vehicle.

"Nice car." Kort said blandly.

"Thanks." The driver replied after lowering the passenger window. "It was a gift from my uncle."

Kort relaxed.

That was the code he was expecting.

"Need a lift?" The driver asked.

Kort nodded.

He opened the door and got inside. The driver wasted no time and casually drove away from the area. If he drove pell-mell out of the area, it would attract attention they didn't need. Once they were a good ten minutes away from the town, Kort felt it was safe enough to begin interrogating the man.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Name's Elias Cooper." The other man replied. "And we're waist-deep in this shit, man. I don't know what you've uncovered, but I got information that'll make you shit your pants."

* * *

_"Dear Diary,_

_It's not often that I enjoy being around my so-called _husband_._

_But I couldn't help it._

_I felt as giddy as a schoolgirl as I watched._  
_John blew my assumptions out of the water._

_I never knew he was capable of such delicious cruelty. For the first time ever, I felt attracted to my husband._

_I want to drag him to the bedroom and make love to him for hours on end._

_Why?_

_Because he was finally punishing the little shit as he deserved._

_John didn't take kindly to the "lies" Tim told him about his so-called friend._

_Don't worry, Diary, I'm not stupid enough to tell John that Tim was telling the truth._

_Besides, it's the shitstain's own fault, anyway._  
_I warned him not to say a word._

_But he blabbed anyway._

_If his ass is grass, I won't lose any sleep over it._

_At least I was getting my morning's entertainment._  
_I watched after I poured myself a glass of wine._

_John lost it after Tim "lied" to his face._

_He made Tim undress and face the corner. Then he took off his belt and whipped the brat many times_

_ to punish him for his "temerity"._

_Then he made him bend over his tiny desk as he used a rattan cane to spank his ass._

_The final insult came when John made him sit on his red-as-a-lobster bottom and write "I will not tell lies" _

_on many pieces of paper on said desk._

_John reacted better than I'd hoped._

_Now there was no chance in hell he would believe Tim._

_Which meant there was no way I'd be exposed. My only regret is that Tim's punishment didn't last longer._

_Oh well._

_You can't have everything._

_Besides, once John left for yet another stint on a naval ship, I can punish the little shitstain to my heart's content._

_He has to learn that he can't be a little tattletale."_

Hetty had to stop reading at that point.

She pressed a hand to her churning stomach. It was bad enough that Noelle had no problems physically abusing her son. She had no idea that the "good" admiral got into the act as well.

She was also sickened to learn that Admiral McGee refused to believe his son.

He never called the police or sent him to a psychologist.

A real father would've investigated his son's claims. Instead, Admiral McGee preferred to believe his son was a compulsive liar. And he used extreme measures to make sure his son never went to the police with his "lies".

At least there was some good news on the horizon.

Callen was making inroads on his investigation.

Thanks to Ms. Evans, they found out where Cole Matthews got the necklace from. And they knew the identity of the real owner of the necklace, who was NOT Krissy Evans. Hetty hoped they found the answers they needed at the Jones farm.

Hetty was not without her own connections.

She knew that many powerful people would be interested in making the diary and the videos disappear for good. Which was why the videos were sent to a secure location only she knew about.

And only she knew the location of Noelle's diary.

Hetty's eyes slid down to the diary and heaved a sigh.

As much as it sickened her to read the diary, she felt a morbid desire to continue. It was like watching a train wreck: you couldn't look away no matter how hard you tried. She tossed two Alka Seltzers into a tall glass of water and used a spoon to stir it.

She forced herself to drink it all down and consume several saltless crackers.

Then she took a deep breath and read another entry.

* * *

"Are you sure I'm ready, sir?"

I didn't answer for a long time.

As much as I despised the fact that I needed to speed up my timetable, I was too much a realist to live in Denialville. The clock was ticking, loathe as I was to admit it. At least Molly Henderson was secure in her new cell.

She was still out cold thanks to the sedative I injected into her.

That stupid bitch wasn't going anywhere.

I whirled around so quickly that he flinched. I sneered in response as I despised weakness of any kind. Especially an emotional weakness. He knew better than to display uncertainty in front of me. I refuse to tolerate that kind of behavior.

Fortunately, he sensed my displeasure.

He clasped his hands and lowered his gaze in submission.

"Are you questioning His will?" I asked coldly.

"No, never!" He gasped.

"Then don't question what I'm doing." I said icily. "As far as I'm concerned, you're not ready. Much less fit to lick His boots. But something has happened. I have no choice but to speed up my timetable. Understand this. Your petty concerns and problems now mean nothing. You are going to forego all the remnants of your former life. You are about to answer to a higher call. You should consider yourself fortunate that He deemed you worthy. Not everyone will have this opportunity."

"I understand." He said reverently.

"Do you?" I asked. "Are you ready to give up everything in the name of Our Lord?"

"I am." He said without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"Good." I replied. "Now get ready."

He nodded.

He carefully disrobed, neatly folding each item of clothing and placing them in the far corner. I donned my robes. Then he followed me downstairs to my Lord God's inner Sanctum Sanctorum.

When he had to give up the trappings of his former life, I meant it.

In other words, he would violate the sanctity of the chamber if he arrived in his former items of clothing. To his credit, he didn't voice an ounce of discomfort as he descended the stone steps barefoot. It was more than obvious he was determined to make up for his former lapse in composure.

Good.

As it was a promising sign that he was the right person to choose.

Finally, we were standing beside a marble tub full of holy water. He knelt reverently at my feet with his head lowered. I grabbed a nearby ladle and carefully filled it with water. Then I turned to my future acolyte.

"Are you ready to enter His service?" I asked.

"I so swear in His name." He intoned formally.

In answer, I doused his head with holy water.

To his credit, he didn't react even though the water was cold.

"Are you ready to give up all remnants of your former identity?" I asked, refilling the ladle.

"I so swear in His name." He vowed.

I repeated my former gesture and refilled the ladle again.

"Are you ready to obey Our Lord and His every command without question?" I asked.

"I so swear in His name." He said.

I doused his head once more and filled up the ladle again.

"Are you ready to sacrifice anything and everything in His name?" I asked.

"I so swear in his name." He said.

I covered his head again and directed him to the tub. He complied without hesitation and climbed into the tub. I began chanting in Latin as I shoved his entire body into the water. When he arose once more, I inhaled sharply. I knew he'd been reborn.

He was finally ready.

He was finally worthy.

I favored him with a proud smile as I gave him his own cloak and hood to wear. He handled the cloak as if it were a religious relic. He slowly turned around so I could place the cloak on his body.

When he was fully covered and turned to face me, I felt a rush of anticipation.

Now I could begin Phase Two.


	31. Chapter 31

"Dammit, John! I warned you. I warned you, you stupid son of a bitch!"

Ethan Schmidt crumpled up the letter he just got in the mail.

He wanted to tear it into a thousand pieces. He also wanted to wring Larry Mitchell's neck. The stupid bastard should've contacted him a long time ago.

Ethan stalked over to his drink cabinet and poured himself some Scotch.

He downed it all in one gulp.

Ethan poured himself some more, seething with rage. It was bad enough poor Timothy McGee had been kidnapped-again. But now the bastards responsible for his original abduction were on the move.

Ethan was among the few who believed Tim.

As he'd been part of the group sent to rescue the boy.

Unfortunately, the government was far more interested in pretending the entire thing never happened than in getting justice for the kid. It certainly didn't help that John didn't believe his own son.

He preferred to believe his son was a pathological liar.

He refused to believe his best friend could do such a horrid thing.

Ethan could. Unlike John, he never wore blinders as far as the bastard was concerned. The guy was too slick, too charming and too easygoing. It was an act. An act, he'd tell you! He was the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing.

But John refused to hear anyone insult his brother in all but name.

Hell, he gave a naval lieutenant a vicious left hook after the man in question made a lighthearted joke when he was drunk.

Ethan never agreed with John's plans to participate in the cover up.

He'd tried to speak up in Tim's defense.

He even threatened to go to the press. Ethan took another sip and shook his head. He wished he'd never opened his big mouth. He should've gone to the press immediately. Instead, he wanted to do right by his friend and warn him.

It was the most dumbass mistake he ever made.

One minute, Ethan was a talented lieutenant with a promising career in the Navy. The next, he was demoted several times and sent to work at one of the worst Naval bases in existence: Base Lemoore in Kings County, California.

The nearby water smelled like sulfur and the air made it difficult to breathe. You literally felt like you were living in the middle of nowhere.

The government made damn sure no one would take him seriously.

He was _allegedly_ guilty for multiple offenses.

He'd been sent to the brig a few times on multiple drug and alcohol related charges. People would dismiss him as a madman if he ever went to the press. His "rants" would be dismissed as drug or alcohol-fueled episodes.

Ethan's gaze slid to the drink in his hand.

Disgusted, he poured the rest of the alcohol down a nearby sink.

He'd spent far too much of his time stewing in his anger and bitterness. Ethan should've tried harder to do right by Tim. That poor boy never got justice.

Well, it wasn't too late.

Ethan had to help rescue him.

He also had to do his part to stop the bastards who kidnapped him when he was just a child. Ethan knew John's best friend would stop at nothing to make sure what Tim knew never saw the light of day. If he was rescued, his life was in danger.

Not to mention that demented scientist was still on the loose.

Ethan's mind was made up.

His jaw firmed in determination as he headed for his bedroom to pack his things. He knew that Tim was currently an NCIS agent. His boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, would stop at nothing to rescue him. Gibbs was the perfect person to help Ethan. Besides, the former Marine deserved to learn the entire twisted story.

However, he would have to disguise himself.

And go under an assumed name.

The bastard was no doubt on the lookout for anyone that could expose him. Ethan knew too much. He was just surprised the man didn't send anyone after him.

Well, he knew he wasn't safe.

It was just a matter of time before someone was sent to "silence" him.

Ethan quickly took a shower. He dyed his hair and put on colored contact lenses. Then he put on nondescript clothes and a hat. Ethan examined his reflection in the mirror.

Good.

Nothing about him stood out.

Ethan locked up his apartment and headed out the door. Just to be on the safe side, he walked several blocks before he took a taxi to the nearby airport.

He left just in time.

* * *

Tobias Fornell wished he smoked.

He stood off to the side, watching as a car covered in mud and dirt was slowly being lifted out of a nearby swamp. Fornell couldn't help feeling he was trapped in the movie, "Psycho".

They already searched the pigpen where Cole Matthews found the necklace.

Unfortunately, Matthews got rid of the clothing as he claimed.

Since Hiram Jones was cheap, the farmhands burned the clothing to use as fuel for their makeshift fireplaces. Fortunately, Kensi Blye noticed the tire tracks going straight to a nearby swamp.

Fornell felt like he was having a DiNozzo moment.

In other words, he was reminded of the movie "Psycho".

Just as he suspected, the killer shoved the car into the swamp. Fornell had a feeling Aaron Jones had nothing to do with the murder. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little hopeful for the first time in days.

This was the first break they ever had in the case.

His underlings finally managed to narrow down who was still missing.

All of the other employees at NCIS were accounted for. The employee still missing drove a 2003 Chrysler Sebring. It was difficult to determine the make and model of the car as it was covered from front to back.

But Fornell had a feeling this was the car they were seeking.

The question was, what connection did she have to McGee?

Fornell was doubtful as to whether they would pick up any meaningful evidence. The car was trapped in the swamp for days. But Fornell was good friends with Gibbs. And he'd subconsciously adopted some of his infamous rules.

One of which stated you never assume anything.

Fornell had a feeling she was the one who rigged the CCTV cameras.

Not only did she have a background in computers, she desperately needed the money. She'd amassed major gambling debts and she owed money to a local crime boss.

There was a $50,000 transfer to her bank account days before she disappeared.

Unfortunately, whoever did this was careful as the money was wired through a series of false names and dummy corporations. Fornell had his computer experts working triple overtime to track down the person responsible for the money transfer.

But it seemed like the kidnapper had his own computer expert.

Finally, the car was out of the swamp entirely.

Fornell opened his forensics kit and put on a pair of medical gloves.

Time to get to work.

* * *

_"Dear Diary,_

_Well, this officially sucks._

_I never should've had sex with with my husband. But I definitely wasn't thinking clearly._

_I blame Tim for this._

_As he is the reason I got so hot and bothered._

_This wasn't the stomach flu as I originally assumed._

_You guessed it._

_I'm pregnant._

_I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I forgot to take my birth control and John wasn't wearing a condom._

_It's too late to get an abortion as I'm too far along._

_Not to mention that nosy bitch Penny keeps on staring at me._

_As if she knows what I'm thinking._

_Even worse, she was the one to inform John I was pregnant. There is no way I can get an 'accident' to rid myself of the pregnancy._

_Especially since Penny informed me that she and Nelson were moving closeby._

_Officially, it was to help me with the baby._  
_In reality, Penny's making sure I don't do anything to the baby._

_She's always been too smart for her own good._

_Damn nosy cunt._

_The only good news was that the ultrasound revealed I'm having a daughter._

_As far as I'm concerned, this is my second chance. I was going to get rid of the baby if he turned out to be a boy._

_But I'm having a girl this time. I am going to do a much better job of protecting her._

_Tim killed my first little girl._  
_I refuse to let him anywhere near the other one._

_He's a filthy murderer._

_There's no way I'm letting him kill his sister._

_Again."_

Hetty had to stop.

She couldn't read another word.

McGee's sister Sarah had been conceived because Noelle got a little too excited seeing her son get "disciplined" by the "good" admiral. She couldn't believe what she was reading.

How could no one see through Noelle's act?

Why didn't Penny do more to help her grandson?

She glanced at the diary again. It was the window into a twisted, fucked up world. A world that only Noelle and Tim got to see the reality of.

Perhaps Sarah and Penny knew to some degree. But the rest of the outside world didn't. Like she stated before, Admiral McGee was very determined to maintain his image. His precious image was the only thing that was just as important as the Navy to the man. His wife and daughter came in second place and poor Agent McGee was in a distant third.

Hetty pressed a hand to her churning stomach.

She poured herself a glass of weak ginger ale and forced herself to eat some more crackers. While she wasn't hungry, she couldn't operate on an empty stomach. But the crackers tasted like sandpaper. Thank God Noelle was dead.

As Hetty continued to stare at the diary, she had a bad feeling.

That was she was only at the tip of the iceberg.

But what else would the diary reveal?

What could be worse than what she already read?

Hetty felt a strange reluctance to continue. But she had no choice. She had to get at the heart of the matter if she was going to be of any help to McGee.

In the future, Hetty would wish she'd obeyed her initial instincts.

* * *

Graham normally wasn't one to panic.

But he could feel sweat perspiring on his forehead nonetheless.

He bit at his lower lip, a nervous tell from childhood that he was never able to get rid of. He was in deep shit. The boss would NOT be happy about this, he thought nervously. He'd searched all over the apartment.

Ethan Schmidt was gone.

He'd apparently packed a suitcase.

Which meant he could be anywhere. Even worse, Graham found evidence of hair dye in the shower stall and an empty package of contact lenses.

In other words, Ethan knew that he had to disguise himself.

This indicated he knew what was going on.

Or at least enough to realize that he had to change his appearance. Graham searched the apartment again, but there was no evidence of Schmidt's destination.

Graham debated what he should do next.

He wore gloves, so he didn't leave any evidence of his presence.

He made sure to clean up after himself and left the apartment in the state he found it in. Then he locked after himself since there was no point in alerting the neighbors to an intruder.

He toyed with the idea of disappearing completely.

Then he dismissed the idea.

His boss would track him down and his punishment would be even worse. No, he would inform the older man of what happened and tracked down Schmidt. The only way he would be in the clear was if he fulfilled his assignment.

He didn't want to contemplate the consequences otherwise.

Decision made, he left the area.

* * *

Annette Fairchild cursed up a storm as she checked her watch.

This sucked!

Why did she have to get caught up in a traffic jam? Walter Haines was not the most _understanding_ of bosses at Wilcox's Coffee Shop. In other words, he had a giant stick up his ass that was ten feet long.

The bastard would ream your ass if you were late because of a funeral!

Annette hummed impatiently under her breath.

She fidgeted in her seat as she tapped her fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. She couldn't afford to lose this job. The rent was due soon for her shitty apartment and she had lawyer fees to worry about.

As she was still going through a bitter, acrimonious divorce with her soon to be ex husband, Nolan Fairchild.

At that moment, a chill went up down her spine.

Foolishly, Annette dismissed the feeling.

She assumed she was feeling a draft. It was cold outside and snowing like a bitch. Her car was so old, it didn't have heating or air conditioning to speak if. Later on, Annette would regret not listening to her instincts.

He smiled as he watched the fidgeting woman.

This was it, he thought.

He would finally get to prove himself to his Lord. He didn't know what made his boss move their timetable up. But he knew better than to question his boss.

It wasn't his place to question the Lord's will, after all.

He sneered, his upper lip curling.

Annette wasn't worthy of this honor. Unfortunately, it wasn't up to him to choose. His boss chose this bitch for reasons not meant for his understanding.  
He had to prove himself worthy so he would be privy of his boss's plans.

For now, he had to wait.

And he wouldn't be deemed worthy until he delivered Annette Fairchild into His hands.


	32. Chapter 32

Dirk Collins didn't know how much longer he could take this.

He was still shocked they were making progress with the Frost case.

But he was a lousy actor, a piss-poor liar and he knew the only reason he wasn't found out sooner was because Gibbs and his remaining agents were preoccupied with their worry over McGee. Dirk knew that he had to keep his mouth shut. But it was difficult.

He had to get out of there soon.

Why?

Because Fornell and his lackeys were too close to finding out about his missing partner in crime. Dirk would never make a good agent. But he _could_ be stealthy when he wanted to be.

In other words, he knew how to hide and skulk around.

A byproduct of his abusive childhood.

Dirk splashed water over his face and grabbed a nearby paper towel. He stared at his reflection with a wince as he patted his face dry. He knew he looked like shit.

His cheeks were sunken in as he was barely eating.

His skin was paler than snow.

As a result, the bags under his eyes made him look like a demented raccoon. It was bad enough that he was stuck working for Gibbs of all people. But THEY were still watching him like a hawk. To make sure that he didn't squeal.

They had no reason to worry on that score.

As Dirk had a healthy degree of self preservation.

But he didn't cope well under pressure either. It was just a matter of time before Gibbs, DiNozzo and Bishop noticed something. They were seasoned investigators after all. Gibbs and DiNozzo were bloodhounds when it came to investigations and they wouldn't stop until they solved the puzzle. Which didn't do Dirk any favors. He had to find a way to disappear and go under the radar.

But how?

Team Gibbs earned their formidable reputation for a reason.

And while Dirk didn't know precisely whom he worked for, it was safe to assume that he or she had pretty deep pockets. Dirk and his partner were offered one hundred thousand dollars-each-to rig those CCTV cameras and send them on a loop.

Two hundred thousand dollars was nothing to scoff at.

Dirk suppressed a whimper.

He couldn't linger in the head forever. Gibbs was upstairs meeting with Vance. DiNozzo was downstairs in the makeshift, temporary forensics lab and Bishop was doing a coffee run.

Reluctantly, he exited the men's room.

He was so deep in thought he nearly crashed into DiNozzo.

"Whoa, watch where you're going, Dirkwad!" DiNozzo exclaimed. He steadied Dirk by grasping his shoulders before he could fall. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Agent DiNozzo." Dirk said, plastering a fake smile on his lips. "Thanks for catching me."

"No problem." DiNozzo said. "Just be careful next time, all right?"

Dirk just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Since he didn't really know the members of Team Gibbs all that well, Dirk was unaware of their dynamics and how they operated. He didn't listen to gossip and preferred to spend all his time in CCU. So he didn't realize that DiNozzo's teasing and nicknames weren't harmful. DiNozzo's teasing was supposed to be taken as good-natured and all in good fun. Unfortunately, Dirk didn't see it that way.

For the thousandth time, he cursed his girlfriend for this.

During one of his lunch breaks, he'd placed his girlfriend on speaker.

They got into an argument over something or other and Sheila Thomas gave him the mother of all lectures. She even had the nerve to address him by using his full name: Dirk Wadsworth Collins. Hence the nickname Dirkwad.

It was bringing back memories of his childhood bullies.

The nickname stuck from elementary school onward.

Dirk couldn't seem to escape the unwanted nickname. It was all he could do to avoid charging DiNozzo like an angry bull. Fortunately, he wasn't that stupid. Unlike him, DiNozzo was fit and knew how to fight. Only an idiot would try to take on someone like DiNozzo.

Besides, Gibbs was especially protective over the former cop.

There would be nothing left of Dirk to identify once Gibbs got through with him. Dirk took a deep breath to calm down before heading for his temporary desk.

He knew better than to try and use McGee's.

The one time he tried...well, let's just say that Gibbs and DiNozzo's reactions weren't exactly _pretty_. Ever since then, Dirk made sure to occupy a desk that no one was using to this day.

Dirk forced himself to concentrate on analyzing Frost's financial records.

Little did he know, he was being watched.

* * *

DiNozzo frowned.

Why did he get a bad feeling everytime he interacted with Dirk Collins? It wasn't like he was a threat. With his trekie T-shirts and cokebottle glasses, Collins was about as threatening as Milton Waddams from the Mike Judge movie, "Office Space".

Then again, in the movie, Waddams burned down InoTech after he was fed up with his supervisors.

And DiNozzo worked with McGee and Abby for years.

They taught him that even computer experts could be dangerous.

DiNozzo made a mental note to discuss this with Gibbs. If the former Marine had taught him anything, it was to never ignore your instincts.

He didn't have his boss's infamous "gut".

But his instincts were blaring alarms in his head nonetheless.

DiNozzo rubbed at his eyes. Sleeping for days on Gibbs' uncomfortable couch was taking its toll. He'd just delivered the envelope to forensics. Hopefully they would be able to find some clue to the case. His patience was running thin. He wanted his surrogate little brother rescued NOW.

He stared at Collins again.

He couldn't help feeling the computer geek was connected somehow.

While his nervous behavior could possibly be attributed to his normal personality-DiNozzo didn't even know him, after all-DiNozzo couldn't help feeling there was something more to it.

Granted, Collins could just be nervous working for Gibbs.

Whose infamous reputation was well known throughout NCIS.

But Collins wasn't just nervous around his boss. He was nervous around EVERY member of Team Gibbs. He was always wringing his hands and scanning his surroundings in a paranoid manner. If DiNozzo didn't know any better, he'd suspect Collins was an escapee from a mental ward.

DiNozzo pretended to be preoccupied with going over witness reports.

But he continued to watch Collins like a hawk.

As a result, he saw Collins pale. He was visibly trembling as he stared at something over DiNozzo's shoulder. The poor guy looked ready to wet himself.

Before DiNozzo could question him, Collins ran to the bathroom.

He glanced over his shoulder.

It was too late.

Whoever-or whatever-spooked Collins was long gone.

* * *

Amanda Grey was feeling the strain.

She tenderly stroked Sarah's long brown hair as the girl slept.

The poor thing had to be sedated as she was so hysterical. Penny's condition was still touch and go due to the embolism she suffered days earlier.

Hospital security tried to catch the bastard responsible.

But he managed to escape before anyone got a good look at him.

Amanda ran a hand over her face. She could only thank God that an alert orderly managed to spook the guy and stop the injection before it could do anymore damage. Unfortunately, the injection-whatever it was-made Penny go into cardiac arrest.

She'd been immediately taken back to the ER.

The doctors were working overtime, trying to save her life.

There was no further word on Penny's condition. All they knew was that she was still alive. Sarah was beside herself with worry. She was so agitated, several orderlies had to hold her down as a nurse injected her with a sedative.

Personally, Amanda felt they'd gone a bit too far.

But Sarah desperately needed the sleep.

And she could see their point. Sarah was continually visiting the ER ward, demanding answers on her grandmother's condition. She was so angry and scared, no one could calm her down.

Hence the sedative.

She was taken to a private room to get some sleep.

Amanda was hoping the police could get some answers. She had a feeling the murder attempt was connected to Tim's kidnapping. Why else would someone try to murder a grandmother who'd just been partially paralyzed because of a car accident?

Fortunately, there were surveillance cameras in all hospital rooms.

The video footage from Penny's had been confiscated by police.

The detectives took statements from Amanda and Sarah after they interviewed hospital staff and the orderly who interrupted the murder attempt. Amanda advised them to work with NCIS as Penny's grandson had been kidnapped and the murder attempt might be connected.

Amanda hated feeling helpless.

But there wasn't anything more she could do.

All she could do was comfort Sarah and wait for her to wake up.

She rose to her feet with a sigh.

She was feeling restless and she decided to visit the cafeteria to get more coffee. She would also try to and force herself to get some food. Even though everything tasted like sandpaper lately.

On the way to the cafeteria, her cell phone rang.

A scowl marred her lovely features as she noted the name on the viewscreen: Cornelius Kowalski. "What do you want, _Father_?"

* * *

Abby Sciuto tried not to let her eyes droop as she changed the channel.

Goddammit, she was so bored!

Even though her wounds were minor, the doctors wanted her to take it easy. And Vance put her on sick leave since she had so many hours accrued, it was ridiculous. Abby scowled. It wasn't her fault that she loved her job so much.

She hated being away from her "babies".

Unfortunately, they were still repairing the lab.

Abby kept on calling everyone she knew to get answers. She wanted to get a status update on the investigation into Tim's kidnapping. Unfortunately, Vance put his foot down and threatened to fire her if she continued to "impede" their efforts. Even Gibbs was losing patience with her. Abby didn't mean to upset anyone.

But Tim was her best friend.

She had every right to be worried about him.

Abby stared fondly at the new stuffed hippo in her lap. It was hard to be angry with her beloved silver-haired fox for long. Gibbs would sometimes visit her at her apartment to see how she was doing.

The stuffed hippo was a get well present.

She decided to name him Rupert.

Abby's smile faded as thoughts of Tim returned to the forefront of her mind. Who would kidnap him and why? She had a feeling he was taken in order to send a message to DiNozzo. The envelope had been addressed to him after all.

But what would taking Tim accomplish?

If he or she wanted to attract DiNozzo's attention, it was working.

Well, if they wanted to take on the bull, they would get the proverbial horns. She was confident that Gibbs and DiNozzo would find the bastard responsible and make him pay.

Big time.

It just royally sucked that she couldn't be part of it.

Abby changed the channel again. It was hard to believe, but even with all of these new channels, there wasn't anything decent on! She was debating on whether to take a nap or watch one of her DVDs when there was a breaking news bulletin.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

The news report was about Tim!

* * *

I poured myself a glass of my favorite wine:

Chianti.

"I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti."

Ah yes, good ol Dr. Hannibal Lector.

Not surprisingly, he's one of my favorite characters of all time. Despite...recent setbacks, everything was going according to plan. Thanks to the surveillance cameras, I could check on Tiny Tim.

Nothing..._untoward_ was going on.

The parties involved knew better than to take things too far.

Of course, I still plan to dispose of them. There was no point in leaving potiential witnesses alive. I was determined to learn my lesson from the Dirk Collins debacle. Speaking of which, I made a mental note to contact my competent minion. I needed to be sure that little pissant was keeping his mouth shut.

If he squealed, well, he would find that life imitates art.

Liver and fava beans are two of my favorite foods, after all.

I sipped the chilled wine with a content sigh. Molly Henderson was kept sedated in her cell. My new acolyte was keeping a close eye on Annette Fairchild. I knew he was confused as to why he had to pursue her. But at least he knew better than to question orders.

The last idiot who tried found his tongue removed.

No one has tried ever since.

I do hope the media likes my latest present. Once in a while, I believe in doing a good deed and giving something to the _little people_. Even though they don't even amount to a small hill of beans in my eyes.

But those pesky reporters were needed.

One, it would sully Tiny Tim's reputation even further.

And it would send a message to my Lord God. He needs to know of the good deeds I am committing in His holy name, after all. Letters and pictures aren't enough. How can I spread the Holy word if people don't know?

Hence my little present.

Unfortunately, not all of the news was good.

I'd consulted with every doctor I could get my hands on. They all told me the same thing. Despite their best efforts, my contacts couldn't find any useful information in regards to Tiny Tim's first kidnapping. Which all but reeked of a cover up, I mused, taking another sip.

Someone was determined to make sure this info never saw the light of day.

This didn't deter me one bit.

On the contrary. I _love_ puzzles and demonstrating my intellectual superiority over the_ lesser peons_ that infect this _wretched_ planet. I was determined to find out what happened to Tiny Tim when he was a child and why.

This would give me more ammunition to torment him with.

I was jolted from her reverie when my new cell phone rang.

My eyes lit as my competent minion gave me rather _delightful_ news.

My present reached the media after all!

* * *

He'd debated whether to send one of his agents.

But no.

After all, John McGee was an old friend.

They'd been buddies since childhood.

He owed it to the man to deliver his present in person. He would expect the same from John if their situations were reversed. If he had a heart, it would break upon seeing John in this sorry state.

This skeletal figure wasn't his longtime friend.

The John he knew was tough as nails with a toned, compact body.

The John he knew was a formidable naval admiral with guts, an iron will and a classic dominate, alpha male personality that few could match. Small wonder they got along so well.

The John he knew overcame tremendous odds to rise to the top.

The John he knew never let anything get in the way of his ambition.

The John he knew was on the fast track to joining the Cabinet. It seemed like nothing could take him down. Everytime he faced death, John would find a way to survive.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

It wasn't a battle or a murder that was killing John McGee.

It was cancer.

Something that even a naval admiral couldn't defeat.

John had tried. He went to the best doctors, only to find there wasn't anything to be done. By the time he found out about his cancer, it was in the terminal stages.

Now John was wasting away in his bed.

A pitiful caricature of what he used to be.

No, he mused, lighting up a Cuban cigar. He wouldn't let John waste away like rotting fruit. As far as he was concerned, he was doing a kindness. Carefully, he locked the door. He scanned the room for the camera and found it.

He covered up the lens with a jacket.

Carefully, he donned a pair of medical gloves.

Then he grabbed the pillow from the empty bed next to John's. He stealthily removed the monitor that checked John's pulse and put it on his own finger. As Fate would have it, John awoke just as he was about to raise the pillow.

"Hey!" John rasped weakly. "When did you get here?"

"A minute ago." He said honestly.

"It's good to see you." John's brow furrowed. "But I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. I thought you were too busy to see me today."

"I just...had to see you, that's all." He said.

"What's going on?" John asked warily.

"I'm really sorry it had to come to this, John-Boy." Both of them were closet fans of the old TV show, The Waltons.

"What are you talking about?" John demanded.

"It hurts, seeing you like this." He said.

"What are you doing?" John tried reaching for the call button to summon the nurse, but his friend easily moved faster to grab his hand. John didn't like the look in his friend's eye.

"I'm doing this for your own good, John-Boy." He said.

John tried calling for help.

But his so-called friend pressed the pillow tightly against his face before he could even utter a word. John writhed and struggled. He tried pushing the pillow away. He tried punching his friend, but his blows were weak and ineffectual.

The cancer was sapping away his strength.

"I'm doing you a favor, John-Boy." He said casually, as if he were talking about the weather. Blackness started to close in on John's vision as it became harder and harder to breathe. "The cancer is slowly killing you a bit at a time. It's akin to being trapped in a closed casket as you're being buried alive. This way, your pain and suffering ends. You should be thanking me. Instead of a long, slow and agonizing death, your demise will be quick and painless."

John's protests were muffled.

They were slowly and surely getting weaker as time passed.

"I'd thought of sending one of my agents to do this." He said. "But you're my best friend, John-Boy. I would expect you to do the same thing for me if I were in your shoes." He began to stroke John's head. "Shhh. Soon, it'll be all over. Soon, you'll be facing the big guy in the sky." He continued to stroke John's hand, comforting him as a father would a frightened child.

Before everything went black, he heard something else.

The other man bent closer to whisper something in his ear.

"Oh, and by the way." He said. "Tim was telling the truth the entire time."


	33. Chapter 33

AN: Sorry I took so long to update.  
There's been a death in the family and it's going to take me a bit to reacclimate to real life.  
Thank you for being patient with me and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Timeskip: Four Days Later

_"Great God Almighty gonna pick a bale of cotton Great God Almighty gonna pick a bale a day Great God Almighty gonna pick a bale of cotton Great God Almighty gonna pick a bale a day"_

I sang one of my favorite ditties as I began digging. Behind me, in a large pile, were the pawns I'd needed to torment Tiny Tim. Like I said before, I don't believe in leaving loose ends.

I refuse to take any chances after the Dirk Collins debacle.

My competent minion gave me even more damaging news.

It turns out I'd been careless when I tried to dispose of Collins' partner at the Jones' farm. While I was careful and meticulous in removing the teeth and hair, I forgot to take off her clothing.

Even more damning, they found her jade necklace.

Which was used to identify her.

_"Oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

Well, this time, I was going to be more thorough. The area was deserted and hadn't been used in quite some time. There wasn't a human being for miles around. So no one would get suspicious if they saw smoke in the air.

My minion already hired a computer expert to get rid of any possible trace between Collins, his bitch of a partner and me. I suppressed a sigh as I tossed a shovelful of dirt to the side. I hated it when I make mistakes. It was a bitter reminder that I was _human_. My upper lip curled in disgust.

As I stated before, I despised weakness.

Especially when _I_ displayed it.

_"You got to jump down, turn around and pick a bale of cotton You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale a day You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale of cotton You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale a day"_

I checked my watch. It was only six o'clock in the morning. It was no trick at all to dispose of these idiots. They didn't even see me coming.

And to think, they'd thought themselves hardened criminals!

They were about as pathetic as Tiny Tim!

Well, I suppose I shouldn't complain. After all, their very incompetence worked to my advantage. Speaking of incompetents, I made a mental note to tell my intelligent minion to watch Team Gibbs like a hawk.

The moment they solved the Frost case and Collins was allowed to join his fellow worthless geeks in CCU, he was going to..._disappear._

The idiot was bound to slip.

While he didn't know much, he still knew enough for my liking.

Like any good plumber, you had to find the leak and plug it. It was a mistake to hire Collins. Then again, it wasn't like I could predict that Vance would choose Collins, of all people, to assist Team Gibbs. This was a case of bad luck and unfortunate timing more than anything else.

As much as it pained me to admit it, there are things outside even my control.

_"Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

As I continued digging, a smile spread across my admittedly handsome face while I recalled their shocked reactions as I murdered them one by one. While I hate the fact that I have to give into my baser emotions, it felt good to take my frustrated rage out on these idiots.

At the time, I was still angry over the doctor's diagnosis.

Hence the "misplaced aggression".

I made sure their deaths were slow and torturous. They brought it on themselves by being so weak and stupid. There was no room for such vile weaklings in the gene pool.

Really, I was doing humanity a favor.

Besides, it wasn't an act of cruelty.

I consider it an act of nature. After all, it was a dog-eat-dog world out there and it was survival of the fittest. It was nature's way for the strong to prey upon the weak and infirm.

The most obvious example was what happened to Tiny Tim.

He was a sniveling little worm who deserved everything that I did to him and more.

The pathetic little shit.

The sooner he was dead, the better.

_"Me and my wife can pick a bale of cotton Me and my wife gonna pick a bale a day Me and my wife can pick a bale of cotton Me and my wife can pick a bale a day"_

I started to whistle and snap my fingers to the beat. The hole was finally finished and I wiped my hands a few times to get rid of the excess dirt. Of course, I was wearing medical gloves and I planned on taking the shovel with me. No sense in leaving forensic evidence behind.

I tossed the shovel aside and headed for my "borrowed" truck.

I never use the same vehicle twice.

It made it less likely for me to get caught. I made a mental note to dispose of the truck as soon as I could. I opened a duffle bag after opening the passenger side door. I retrieved the can of gasoline and a box of matches.

My former pawns have already been stripped.

Then I changed into a uniform that doctors use when they visit someone who is in quarantine. I made sure my hair was covered and I donned a pair of goggles.

I retrieved a chainsaw from the back of the truck.

First things first.

I grabbed all of their clothing and belongings and tossed them into a large pile. I pour gasoline all over the pile and set the entire flotsam on fire with a match.

I repeated this several times.

Until there was nothing left but ashes.

_"Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

Then, using the chainsaw, I carefully divided each body into sections. I retrieved a wood-chipper from the back of the truck. It was a slow-going process, But I managed to place each body part into the machine.

Then I placed the remains into the hole.

And set the pile on fire.

I repeated this several times so there was no body tissue and the bones were too charred and damaged for proper identification. Naturally, this took hours, but that was okay.

I knew this would take a long time.

And I made sure to give myself enough time to do the job properly.

I would dispose of everything, including the chainsaw and wood-chipper, later. After all, they contained the blood and DNA of my victims. All of them had criminal records and I didn't want them identified.

There was always a chance, however remote, this could be traced back to me.

At least they were able to disguise themselves when they were _attending_ to Tiny Tim. I scanned the area several times to make sure I didn't miss anything.

_"Oh me and my gal gonna pick a bale of cotton Well me and my gal gonna pick a bale a day Well me and my gal gonna pick a bale of cotton Me and my gal gonna pick a bale a day"_

I tossed the shovel, chainsaw and wood-chipper in the back.

With my competent minion keeping tabs on Annette Fairchild, I knew I had to act quickly. The doctor's diagnosis hung like the Sword of Damocles above my head. I knew who was going to be the Third Chosen.

Unfortunately, locating her was taking more time than I like.

I need to find the stupid bitch before it was too late.

This made me angry as mostly everything was running like clockwork until now. I hate delays of any kind. I was so close to realizing my dream.

Of being granted ascension by my Lord God.

_"Oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

I made a final sweep to make sure I'd taken everything with me. Once I was satisfied, I slid behind the wheel and left the area. My back and arms were aching as I was unaccustomed to such hard labor.

Fortunately, no one was around to see my bodily weaknesses.

Especially my minions and acolytes.

Speaking of which, my acolyte managed to locate another potential candidate. He worshiped our Lord God and knew of His Greatness. I would have to test him to see if he was worthy. Only the best of the best could serve our Lord God.

And I needed to make sure this wasn't a trap of some kind.

I refuse to blindly trust the word of anyone.

The only exception was my Lord God, of course. He couldn't do anything wrong in my eyes. It was just unfortunate that so few could perceive His Divinity.

_"Oh me and my buddy can pick a bale of cotton Me and my buddy can pick a bale a day Me and my buddy can pick a bale of cotton Me and my buddy can pick a bale a day"_

I glanced at my watch again.

It was nearly five o'clock in the evening.

No wonder I was hungry. After all that work and seeing all that carnage, I had a hankering for some meat. I decided to visit my favorite barbecue restaurant. I was feeling so magnanimous, I even decided to take Lana along.

Really, that stupid cunt should consider herself lucky that I deign to _lower_ myself to seek her favors.

She was too stupid to recognize her betters.

_"Oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

I called Lana.

Fortunately, she was free for the evening.

I reached my intended destination and made sure the truck was well hidden. Due to my date, I didn't have time to dispose of the truck properly. I quickly burned the hazmat suit and goggles I was wearing.

Then I changed into civilian clothing.

Then I drove back to the house to change for my date. I would get rid of the truck after I drove Lana home. I couldn't afford to leave such a giant liability lying around.

Maybe I shouldn't be going on a date.

But I was hungry and feeling a little horny.

Hey, a man has needs, so sue me.

Even a superior specimen such as myself.

_"Me and my partner can pick a bale of cotton Well me and my partner can pick a bale a day Well me and my partner can pick a bale of cotton Me and my partner can pick a bale a day_

_Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

As I drove to Lana's apartment building, I knew that things weren't all bad. Molly Henderson was still sedated and Annette Fairchild would join her soon enough.

It was just a matter of time before I located the third bitch.

I could feel it.

After all, this wasn't a mere kidnapping. I was part of a holy mission and I couldn't let pesky things like the _law_ get in the way. It was unfortunate the unwashed masses wouldn't understand what I was attempting to do.

But their opinion doesn't matter.

Only the regard of my Lord God does.

As long as my legacy lives on, it would make all of my hard work and sacrifices worth it. Really, I should receive an Academy Award, no, a sainthood for putting up with Tiny Tim for as long as I have.

I don't know how my Lord God does it.

Then again, I shouldn't be surprised as He is a Divine Being.

_"You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale of cotton You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale a day You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale of cotton You got to jump down and turn around and pick a bale a day_

_Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

I stopped at a red light.

I happened to glance around and did a double take.

It was all I could do not to snicker in delight and get out of the car and dance around like an idiot. My target was getting out of her car and she was heading for a two-story brick house. Quickly, I snapped a picture of both the house, the number on the front porch and the street the house was located on with my new cell phone.

Ask and ye shall receive, indeed!

This was proof positive of the future success of my holy mission.

Even better, I didn't need to waste anymore money, time and resources to find her! Clearly, this was providence. My Lord God was working his Divine Will to show me the way.

_"Great God Almighty, I can pick a bale of cotton Great God Almighty, I can pick a bale a day I can pick a pick a pick a pick a bale of cotton I can pick a pick a pick a pick a bale a day_

_Oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day Well oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton Well oh Lordy, pick a bale a day"_

I was startled when some asshat honked his horn behind me.

Apparently, the light was green.

I drove instead of reacting. After what I'd just done, it wouldn't do to attract unwanted attention. Eventually, people would find out about my holy mission. But it was too soon.

As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't ready.

Tiny Tim wasn't ready.

Besides, there was much I had to do before the Grand Finale. In the meantime, I would send someone to keep an eye on the Third Chosen.

And I needed to find a third acolyte while I was at it.

But this couldn't be rushed.

Oh NO!

I would only displease Him if I tried to convert someone unworthy.

For now, all of that could wait. I parked outside Lana's apartment building and honked the horn. In the meantime, I would focus on getting some meat.

And some pussy.

* * *

Ziva glanced at the body.

She was too late.

The attempted murder of Penny Langston hit the news around the same time that damn footage of McGee was revealed. It certainly didn't help that the media made the connection between, Penny, McGee and Admiral John McGee.

Who'd been murdered four days ago.

Someone smothered him with a pillow.

There were no witnesses, the surveillance camera footage was removed and the murderer didn't leave behind any fingerprints or DNA traces.

The same thing happened with Penny's assailant. Well, for the most part. The only good thing was the perpetrator didn't have time to wipe out the surveillance camera footage.

Ziva had one of her Mossad contacts hack into Metro's database to retrieve said footage.

Once she got a good look at the bastard who attempted to murder Penny, she used everything she'd learned in Mossad and NCIS to track him down. Unfortunately, by the time she found him, she was too late.

Someone put a bullet in his head.

Ziva quickly left the area before she was discovered.

After all, she would be of no help to McGee if she was arrested and people thought HER guilty of the man's murder. At the very least, she would give an anonymous tip to the police.

This way, they weren't going on a wild duck chase.

Or was it goose chase?

To this day, Ziva still had trouble with American idioms. It was true that while this lead turned out to be a dead end, she refused to give up. Gibbs taught every member of his team to never give up.

And she refused to let McGee down.

He'd suffered enough already.

Ziva returned to her rented car and quickly drove away from the area. After much searching, she managed to find a pay phone and quickly gave the tip to the 911 operator before hanging up.

Then she drove away to meet her contact.

Who'd discovered interesting information.

* * *

DiNozzo glared hazel sparks at his so-called boss.

"Do I look like Kit Keller to you?" He groused.

Gibbs was in no mood for DiNozzo's movie references. He didn't even know who Kit Keller was and he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. All he knew was that he needed DiNozzo to keep his head. Vance was watching them like a hawk.

Any wrong move and it would compromise Gibbs' secret investigation.

As well as any unofficial digging DiNozzo was doing on his own.

DiNozzo's glare would've been deadly under different circumstances. But it was difficult to look dangerous when you resembled a drowned rat.

Gibbs took DiNozzo to the men's locker room before things got even more out of hand. DiNozzo definitely didn't appreciate being tossed onto the ground and being forced to take a cold shower while he was fully clothed.

But it brought about the desired result as DiNozzo finally cooled off.

So to speak.

Personally, Gibbs didn't blame DiNozzo for blowing up the way he did. It'd been all the former Marine could do to keep his cool. DiNozzo was fortunate that Vance was out for the day. Pamela Cook refused to divulge the reason why.

She would only state he left NCIS on "personal business".

DiNozzo was present and he muttered something about "Ferris Bueller's Day Off".

Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

In any event, Pamela merely gave DiNozzo a dirty look as she clearly knew what he was talking about. She politely yet firmly sent them on their way with a bone-chilling glare that sent chills up and down their spines.

Not that Gibbs would ever admit it.

Not surprisingly, DiNozzo's blow-up was because of Jordan Kowalski:

FLASHBACK

_Gibbs and DiNozzo were in a foul mood after they returned to the bullpen._

_They were already pissed off because McGee had been kidnapped._

_But their tempers worsened ever since the kidnapper leaked something to the media. Every member of Team Gibbs was angry on McGee's behalf._

_It was bad enough he was being beaten and tortured._

_But now the entire public knew it._

_It certainly didn't help that news leaked out regarding Admiral McGee's murder and the attempted murder of Penny Langston. The press also found out about Noelle McGee's murder many days earlier._

_Gibbs and DiNozzo were similar in temperament._

_They were walking time bombs._

_It was just a matter of time before someone or something lit the fuse. Trust Jordan Kowalski to be dumb enough to wave a red flag before an angry bull._

_ZNN was relentlessly covering the story._

_Practically every employee was crowding around the huge TV screens._

_Jordan Kowalski was at the front of the crowd with his equally mindless cronies. He was pointing and laughing. Clearly, he was enjoying the "spectacle"._  
_DiNozzo was furious that Kowalski was treating McGee's suffering like it was some big joke._

_"...is great!" Kowalski guffawed. "I knew he was a pathetic little shit, but this _really_ takes the cake! Finally, everyone will know what a loser he is! This proves there really is a God! Now Gibbs will have no choice but to give me McGee's spot on his team! That stupid bastard's getting precisely what he deserves! Those earlier rumors were correct after all. Then again, I'm not surprised. He never struck me as someone who_ appreciated_ the ladies, if you catch my drift. Why I-" Kowalski never got to finish his little diatribe._

_He was caught off guard as DiNozzo jumped him from behind._

_Kowalski was forced onto his back._

_His eyes widened in disbelief as DiNozzo began punching his lights out. Kowalski tried to defend himself, but DiNozzo was seasoned and a superior fighter. Kowalski's cronies were too busy gaping like idiots to help their "esteemed" leader. The other agents and probies were egging DiNozzo on as most of NCIS couldn't stand the spoiled brat._

_Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if they were back in high school._

_Instead of breaking things up, the crowd chanted "Fight!" over and over again like a broken record. Shaking his head, Gibbs lifted DiNozzo in a fireman's carry and headed towards the men's locker room in the gym._

END FLASHBACK

"I'm okay now, you can turn it off!" DiNozzo snapped.

"Are you really?" Gibbs growled. "That was uncalled for, DiNozzo!"

"Was it?" DiNozzo said. "You heard the trash he was spouting about McGee! That bastard deserved every punch and more. Why did you stop me?"

"Because you're a senior agent!" Gibbs bellowed. "You're a man well into his forties, not an immature, high school kid. This is a federal agency, not a playground. Besides, you're lucky Vance wasn't present to see it."

"I know." DiNozzo winced. He regretted losing his temper like that, but he couldn't bring himself to lose sleep over beating the shit out of Kowalski.

"Look, DiNozzo, I get your anger." Gibbs turned off the shower. "But we can't afford to lose our cool. This would jeopardize everything at this point and it will only put McGee in more danger. As much as it galls you, we're going to have to keep a low profile. You can't let Kowalski provoke you like this."

"I know, Boss." DiNozzo clenched and unclenched his fists. "It's just so frustrating! McGee's being tortured and his asshat kidnapper released footage of it! Everyone knows what he's enduring. I know he's suffering and I can't help him because I don't know where he is. Even worse, the bastard is torturing him to get to me. I hate sitting around and focusing on Frost when my partner and surrogate little brother is in danger."

"We'll find him, DiNozzo." Gibbs said. He helped DiNozzo to his feet and lead the shivering senior agent to his locker. Fortunately, DiNozzo always seemed to bring a spare set of clothes to work. "In the meantime, we need to stay focused and not let our anger cloud our minds. Otherwise, that bastard will win."

* * *

_"You pathetic little shitstain." Captain John McGee sneered. "The next time you go around spreading your vile lies, I'm going to do much more than kick your ass three ways from Sunday. I am so sick and tired of seeing you disgrace the McGee family name. Your bullshit ends now, young man! In the meantime, you stay there and think about what you did!"_

_Tim winced when his father slammed the door shut._

_He hated being locked in the closet._

_It was small, claustrophobic and it easily reminded him of the tiny, enclosed spaces his kidnapper dumped him in to punish him. He could hear his breathing escalate and his heartbeat race even faster as the panic set in._

_But he didn't dare cry out._

_Or his punishment would be worse._

_Tim wrapped his arms around his tiny, shivering body. As if determined to add to his son's humiliation, John refused to let him get dressed._

_In other words, he was as naked as a jaybird._

_Tim wanted to sob in defeat._

_He honestly thought his father would believe him. While John was cold and somewhat distant, at least he never hurt Tim like his mother did. Until now, that is._

_Tim knew he'd made a major mistake by telling his father._

_John refused to believe his friend was capable of doing something like this. Even though Tim was a lousy liar, John preferred to believe that Tim made everything up._

_That he got his scars, cuts and bruises from playing outside._

_Tim couldn't understand why his father thought he was lying._

_After all, he couldn't even convince Mrs. Alderman, his kindly next door neighbor, that he wasn't responsible for the baseball making a hole in her kitchen window._

_Tim couldn't lie if his life depended upon it._

_Despite his best efforts, tears ran rivers down his bruised cheeks._

_Never did he imagine his father was capable of hurting him so badly. Usually, that was his mother's job. She was always punishing him for reasons he didn't understand as she didn't see fit to share them with him._

_"Stop that crying!" John yelled as he opened the door. "My god, I wish you were never born. All you've done is disgrace the family name and embarrass me!"_

Embarrass me.

Embarrass me.

Embarrass me.

The words repeated themselves like a broken record as Tim slowly opened his eyes. He realized he was back in that cold shed of a room. The bloody TV was back. He suppressed a sigh. All of his worst memories were rising to the surface, thanks to what he endured because of his bastard kidnapper.

As it only reminded him of previous torments.

His illusions were destroyed that day.

Until that moment, Tim still believed he could earn his parents' love and affections. It was apparent they didn't want him. All of his efforts to please them failed time and again.

After John's "discipline" session, Tim bitterly realized that some dreams were never meant to come true. All he could do was keep quiet and stay out of the way.

Thank God for Sarah and Penny.

Tim didn't know what he'd do if he didn't have them in his life.

Tim's reverie was interrupted when the TV came on. To his shock, ZNN was covering the story of his kidnapping. Tim felt like throwing up as he received one brutal shock after another:

His mother, Noelle, was dead.

His father, John, was dead.

Someone tried to murder Penny.

But the worst was yet to come.

To Tim's horror, the bastard videotaped the latest "session" and leaked it to the media. He started to tremble, knowing that everyone was witnessing what happened to him.

Billy Idol's "White Wedding" was playing in the background.

McGee himself was lying on his stomach on a large bed.

He was clad in a white wedding dress, tiara and veil. His ass was displayed for all and sundry to see. While it was blurred, you didn't need to be a rocket scientist to determine what would happen next.

Tim found himself reliving what happened.

_The unwanted hands caressing his body and private parts._

_The pain as one bastard entered him after another, raping him orally and anally. The urge to throw up as the bastards forced him to pleasure them with his hands or licked the exposed parts of his body._

He knew the content was edited.

But he couldn't help feeling people were seeing everything nonetheless.

Tim felt his mind fracture and suddenly, he couldn't determine what time period he was in.

_He could hear the cackling of hyenas as dirty hands caressed his tiny body. He wasn't allowed any clothing. Despite how many times this happened, he couldn't get used to the sensation of someone entering him from behind._

_The pain was indescribable._

_He felt his skin crawl as one of those detestable hands wandered between his legs. Tim wanted to vomit as the assistant touched him _there_._

_He was young._

_But he knew an unwanted touch when he felt it nonetheless._

_Finally, the assistant stopped. But it wasn't over. "I've got a surprise for you, Timmy. Uncle...is always _generous_ with his toys. And I feel the sudden urge to _share._" The cackling continued as he stood and opened the door to Tim's cell._

_To Tim's horror, more evil-looking men entered the room._

_Their hungry eyes devouring his little body as they stared at him with a strange glint in their eyes. The assistant cackled as he skipped to a nearby radio and began playing a song Tim didn't recognize._

_"I have a special costume for you, Timmy." Tim froze in horror. "That's right, it's role-playing time!" Tim couldn't help but shudder. He despised role-playing time. The assistant made him wear strange costumes and he had to participate in something the assistant called role-playing scenarios._

_Whatever _that_ meant._

_This time, Tim recognized the costume the assistant brought him._

_It was a wedding dress. He'd seen his mother's after he sneaked into the attic to hide from her during one of her rages a year ago. The dress itself was simple and bereft of any frills and ribbons._

_Even then, his father was never one for overly done decorations._

_A military man to the core, his father._

_This dress was different. It was covered in bows and ribbons and made out of a silky material. The assistant was also carrying a long veil and a tiara._

_"It's time to get dressed, Timmy." He said in a sing-song voice._

_Tim was too petrified to move._

_All of a sudden, the manic smile disappeared from his face. Tim gulped as an enraged expression replaced it. The assistant could change moods at the drop of a hat. When he got angry, Tim knew his suffering would be worse than usual._

_Before Tim knew what was happening, the assistant was upon him before he could even recoil. "I. SAID. GET. DRESSED!" He roared._

_Quickly, Tim changed into the dress._

"No...please...don't..." Tim muttered.

He'd passed out due to shock. Memories of past and present were mixing together, confusing him and rendering him unable to determine what was real and what was not.

He tossed his head from side to side.

Muttering under his breath as his past and present tormentors returned to haunt him.

* * *

Gibbs heaved a tired sigh as he plopped onto his uncomfortable couch. DiNozzo was upstairs taking a shower.

It'd been a long day.

Between trying to get new leads on the Frost case, keeping DiNozzo in line and making sure Kowalski kept his mouth shut, Gibbs had his hands full. He wasn't the only person cheering when he finally decided to call it a night.

Besides, they weren't getting anywhere.

They would need fresh eyes tomorrow morning when they tackled the case.

Fortunately, Kowalski was universally despised at NCIS aside from his cronies. They were easily convinced to keep what happened from Vance.

For once, Dirkwad proved himself useful when he wiped out footage from the CCTV cameras. Kowalski nodded rapidly when Gibbs "casually" mentioned it was in the spoiled little shit's best interest to keep this from becoming public knowledge.

He obviously remembered Gibbs' previous threat when he lingered around McGee's desk, bragging about where he would put his belongings.

This was good, as maybe Kowalski had a few brain cells after all.

Gibbs started when someone knocked on the front door.

He put one hand on his SIG Sauer as he cautiously approached. Everyone who knew Gibbs was well aware the former Marine kept his front door unlocked. If they wanted to see him, they could just enter and see him in his basement.

"Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs frowned. He didn't recognize that voice at all.

Gibbs stealthily took out his gun and didn't open the door. "Yeah?"

"May I please come in?"

"Who are you?" Gibbs wasn't taking any chances.

"My name is Ethan Schmidt." The unknown man said.

"That name means nothing to me." Gibbs said bluntly.

"I know this sounds weird." Schmidt sighed. "But I need to talk to you."

"Why?" Gibbs demanded.

"Let's just say I have inside knowledge about Tim's first kidnapping." Schmidt replied. Gibbs felt his heart race. True, this guy was a total stranger, but his "gut" was all but screaming he was genuine. And Gibbs was never one to ignore his instincts. Slowly, he opened the door a crack.

"I'm listening."


	34. Chapter 34

Amanda was glad she'd changed her number.

Her father refused to stop calling.

She rubbed her throbbing temples to offset an incoming headache. She had enough on her plate without Cornelius Kowalski adding his two cents in. Then again, her father only cared about _himself_ and _his_ needs. Not to mention his precious little _"Jordie"._

Amanda and her sister got limited attention as it was.

But they were flat out ignored when Jordan was born.

Growing up in the Kowalski household was never easy. Amanda knew her parents never loved each other. Cornelius only cared about his political ambitions and Isabelle was preoccupied with both her looks and her image.

The sisters got repeated lectures on behavior, etiquette and how to conduct themselves in society at all times.

Their punishments were harsh if they ever "embarrassed the family".

Cornelius had a traditional view on women.

In other words, Amanda's sole purpose in life was to marry a wealthy, prominent man, give him sons and help to advance the family name. For Cornelius, it was all about the family name.

Amanda hated her regimented lifestyle.

Her debut into "proper society" only made her want to vomit.

Once she turned eighteen, she ran away and never looked back. Fortunately, her rebellious great aunt, Norma Devereaux, agreed to take her in. The Devereaux family never approved of Norma. She wasn't a proper debutante.

She spoke her mind, refused to attend stuffy parties and even got divorced. Her husband gave her a handsome settlement simply to shut her up.

As she had enough dirt on him to ruin his political ambitions.

Norma encouraged Amanda to pursue her dreams.

She even funded Amanda's college education as Cornelius cut her off without a penny the moment she ran away. To honor her aunt, Amanda legally changed her last name from Kowalski to Grey. Grey was her aunt's middle name.

Amanda was devastated when her aunt developed Alzheimer's Disease.

It was difficult, watching her lively and vivacious aunt waste away to nothing.

She passed away a few months after Amanda began her graduate studies. Losing her was the hardest thing Amanda ever faced. Aunt Norma became the mother figure she desperately needed.

As Isabelle was about as warm and fuzzy as a glacier.

The will was a major shock.

Aunt Norma left everything to her. Cornelius was fit to be tied as the estate was worth millions. But Amanda wasn't about to let her greedy father get his greasy hands on her aunt's estate.

Thankfully, her aunt's lawyer was a huge help in that regard.

As Cornelius had deep pockets and major connections.

Amanda couldn't believe her estranged father's nerve. The bastard hasn't even bothered to get in touch with her for years. The only reason he called was to ask her to attend a formal function with the family because the press was going to be there and he wanted to look good.

Of course, he didn't say it in so many words.

But Amanda knew her bastard father like the back of her own hand and she knew how to read between the lines of her father's political speak.

Needless to say, she hung up and refused to answer his calls. Besides, she wanted to concentrate on Sarah. Sarah had to be sedated many times, especially after that damnable video of Tim was leaked to the media.

Amanda felt ready to throw up after watching what Tim endured.

Sarah, on the other hand, finally snapped.

Amanda wasn't surprised. Sarah was always the hot-tempered member of the McGee family. The poor girl was like a pressure cooker. Too many things were happening at once and it wasn't a shock when Sarah finally exploded.

The orderlies held her down once more as she was put under sedation.

At least there was some good news.

The doctors managed to save Penny's life. She was no longer in danger of losing her life and she was wheeled back to another room in ICU. Unfortunately, the murder attempt put her back into a coma and the doctors weren't sure of her chances of ever regaining consciousness.

However, the murder attempt put everyone on guard.

Penny was in the process of being transferred to another hospital.

Until then, she was put under guard.

No one was taking any chances.

Amanda glanced at Sarah again. The sedative did its job as the worry and frown lines marring Sarah's lovely features smoothed over. She was calm, her chest steadily rising and falling.

But the calm was an illusion.

A perfect metaphor for the McGee family if there ever was one.

Amanda scowled when her cell phone buzzed. Not surprisingly, it was her father again. She hung up before he could get a word in edgewise. Next time, she would purchase her phone under an assumed name.

She was jolted from her thoughts when Sarah began to awaken.

* * *

Kort wiped the foggy mirror with a towel.

He examined his face with a sigh.

Not surprisingly, he looked like shit. He desperately needed a shave, there were huge bags underneath his eyes and his skin was paler than snow. Kort reached into a nearby bag and pulled out a Ziploc bag and a can of shaving cream.

At least he was finally able to take a shower.

Elias Cooper was out meeting a contact.

Normally, Kort would've insisted on going with him. But Cooper was blunt and to the point. He reminded Kort that he was tired, hungry and prone to making mistakes as he was still recovering from weeks of being on the run.

So Kort didn't argue.

He wasn't Gibbs.

Still, this went against years of instinct as Kort didn't exactly _trust_ anyone but himself. It went against the grain, relying on someone else.

But Kort knew he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Not if he wanted to survive.

Kort opened the Ziploc bag and retrieved his razor. He pumped a handful of shaving cream into his hands and covered the lower half of his face and neck. Truth be told, if he was going to be honest with himself, it felt kind of good, leaving the heavy lifting to someone else for change.

This case was draining.

Kort knew he was getting more than he bargained for.

Cooper had been telling the truth. The information he had DID make Kort want to shit his pants. For the first time in years, Kort felt some pity for someone else.

He didn't think he was capable of such a feat.

But he couldn't help feeling sorry for McGee.

Gibbs' "baby agent" had been at the mercy of some of the most dangerous men Kort ever learned about. And that said a lot, considering the bullshit he'd seen on the job as a CIA agent. It said a lot about McGee that he was able to survive his torture and abuse as a child.

And his father never bothered to get him psychological counseling.

Instead, John McGee insisted his son was a liar.

He gladly helped the government cover up what had happened. Unfortunately, John was clever enough to cover up the names of who else had been involved besides the insane scientist.

Which meant he knew the mastermind behind McGee's kidnapping.

Kort finished shaving and rinsed off his razor.

He wiped his face with the damp towel, applied aftershave and exited the bathroom. He opened his duffle bag and pulled out a T-shirt, jeans and boxers.

His mind was racing as he got dressed.

Kort would be the first to admit he was an amoral bastard.

But even he had some scruples. John was a bastard of the highest order and Kort wasn't saddened to learn of his murder. He couldn't help pitying McGee for having someone like that as a father.

And he had a feeling McGee's mother wasn't exactly a basket of roses either.

Kort glanced at his watch.

Cooper said he wouldn't be back for several hours yet.

Kort lay on his own bed and set the alarm. One thing he'd learned in his line of work was that you had to get your rest when you could. He kept one hand on his gun as he drifted off to sleep.

Exhausted by his ordeal and the events of the past several weeks.

* * *

_"Dear Diary,_

_Men!_

_I swear they can't do _anything_ right!_

_He had a simple task._

_A very simple task._

_All he had to do was to get rid of my shitstain son._

_But he couldn't even do _that_ correctly!_

_Feh._

_And they say men are the superior gender._

_Nothing could be further from the truth._

_It just isn't fair, Diary. I was in such a good mood until that moment._

_I was so sure that I would get a phone call from the police or the hospital,_  
_telling me the good news._

_Of course, I would act like a bereaved mother._

_True, I would feel like throwing up inside. But I am nothing if not a good actress, after all._

_When the phone finally rang, I all but skipped to the kitchen._

_Of course, I made sure my voice didn't betray my giddiness. Didn't want to alert the authorities after all._

_When the police officer admitted what happened, I was bouncing on my feet in anticipation._

_So busy thinking about the celebration I would throw, his words didn't register at first._

_I was horrified to learn that Tim survived._

_Acting like I was shocked and horrified,_  
_I asked the officer to repeat himself._

_Just to make sure._

_Sure enough, to my everlasting horror, Tim survived his "car accident"._

_At least the police didn't suspect it was anything but an accident. Still, I wanted to scream over the injustice of it all._

_It was supposed to be so simple._

_Tim was too happy to get a "new car" for his sixteenth birthday to question the reason why._

_The other driver was supposed to make it look like a hit and run accident._

_But Tim managed to survive._

_At least the man I hired was smart enough to skip out of town._

_But I was going to track him down anyway and get rid of him. If there was one thing I couldn't stand besides my worthless son, it was loose ends._

_Especially stupid ones._

_Unfortunately, it would look suspicious if I tried to make another attempt._

_Then the police would realize it was attempted murder._

_But I am going to try again as soon as the coast is clear."_

Hetty couldn't read anything more.

After she regurgitated her dinner, she brushed her teeth and forced herself to eat some crackers and drink weak ginger ale.

It was a wonder she could keep anything down.

Courtesy of McGee's personnel file, she knew that he'd been in a car accident mere days after his sixteenth birthday. The police wrote it off as another hit and run accident and didn't do anything more than a cursory investigation.

Never did Hetty imagine that Noelle would try something like this.

Oh sure, she knew Noelle despised her son.

But to try to kill your own child and make it look like an accident... She couldn't help but wonder what else Noelle attempted over the years. Thank God she never succeeded.

But it was sickening nonetheless.

Hetty felt a newfound respect for Gibbs' first less experienced agent.

It said much about McGee's resilience and character that he managed to endure an abusive childhood, an indifferent father, a murderous mother and a traumatic kidnapping. And this happened right under everyone's noses.

Not even Penny Langston managed to guess the truth.

Feeling drained and exhausted, Hetty took a quick shower.

She made sure to lock up the diary in an unassailable place before she went upstairs to her bedroom. Unfortunately, she wouldn't have time to get some sleep.

Hetty was alarmed to learn that someone managed to glean the location of the tapes taken from Noelle's storage unit. Thankfully, the person in charge managed to lock up the evidence in an unassailable place.

Still, just the thought that someone knew where to find those damnable tapes was alarming.

They would have to be transferred elsewhere.

Hetty got dressed, took the diary with her and left.

* * *

He slammed the phone down in rage the next day. It was bad enough his stupid minion failed to get rid of Penny Langston. The police were on alert and her room in ICU was under heavy guard.

At least he managed to get rid of the stupid bastard before he could be caught and questioned, especially since he never even bothered trying wiping out the security camera footage!

But the bad news didn't end there.

That stupid bitch, Henrietta Lange, knew about the attempted theft.

She acted quickly and took the evidence elsewhere before he could get his agents there in time. The ignoramous who already attempted to abscond with those videotapes was thankfully dead.

He despised incompetent agents.

Lange wasn't without her own resources.

The tapes were taken to another location and no one thought to have her tailed. Nor did they inform him that she was attempting to move the evidence until it was too late.

And it wasn't like he could take her out either.

Lange's death would attract far too much attention.

True, she wasn't as high profile as Leon Vance, but she had her own connections and people in certain places would _definitely_ pay attention if she were to "disappear".

He lit a Cuban cigar to calm down.

Rage would accomplish nothing.

Obviously, it was a mistake to make the attempt in the first place. Lange's associates were too loyal to her. Bribery and death threats wouldn't accomplish anything.

Besides, McGee's latest kidnapping hit the news.

Thanks to that video.

Normally, he would've laughed his ass off about the little pissant getting the humiliation he deserved. But the video turned McGee's kidnapping into a hot topic. It was attracting far more attention than he was comfortable with.

All it would take was one nosy reporter to start digging.

And it wouldn't take him or her long to realize there were holes in McGee's past. Holes that appeared when he was seven years old.

He gripped his cigar so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

He didn't register the pain.

As much as it galled him to admit it, he needed to stop the kidnapper and get rid of him. He relished the thought of McGee's suffering. He needed to suffer for all the bullshit he'd put him through.

But the kidnapper was becoming an unwitting threat.

Besides, there was a silver lining to this.

If he managed to track down the kidnapper first, then he would be able to find McGee. He'd be killing two birds with one stone.

All it would take was a bullet to the head and voila!

His problems would be solved.

His mind racing, he quickly contacted Trevor. Trevor was the best when it came to tracking people down and he couldn't afford to waste time. The sooner McGee and his kidnapper/tormentor were dead, the better.

* * *

"Damn that DiNozzo!"

Jordan Kowalski was too busy pacing angrily to register the expression on his listener's face. Kowalski clenched and unclenched his fists, his grey eyes flashing with frustrated rage.

How dare Tony DiNozzo do that to him?

HIM!

Didn't DiNozzo realize who he was? Didn't he know that it would only take one phone call to his powerful father to ruin the senior agent's life and career?  
Kowalski couldn't stand it.

Thanks to DiNozzo, Kowalski was the laughingstock of NCIS.

Ever since the onesided beating, Kowalski's standing took a nosedive.

People would snicker behind his back and to his face. They would gather together in whispers, sniggering and staring as he walked by. If they made fun of him, they didn't care whether he was in the vicinity or not.

It was not to be endured!

Besides, what was DiNozzo angry about, anyway?

It was no secret how Team Gibbs operated. Kowalski knew the other members of Gibbs' little unit had (rightfully) no respect for that shitstain, Timothy McGee. Who in their right mind would respect him anyway?

He was nothing but a pathetic computer geek.

He couldn't fight worth shit and he was all pants when it came to interrogations.

He couldn't lie if his life depended upon it.

Which meant Gibbs didn't trust him with undercover work.

McGee was never sent for overseas assignments either. DiNozzo was Kowalski's hero until yesterday. The cocky senior agent had no qualms putting the little bastard in his place.

What with the pranks, the jokes and mocking variations of McGee's surname.

So why did he beat up Kowalski for making fun of McGee?

Especially since DiNozzo was the one who revealed the truth about McGee's homosexuality in the first place. Where did that bastard get off treating him, Jordan Matthew Kowalski, the son of a prominent senator, in such a way?

Well, he wasn't going to get away with this.

"He's going to pay for this." Kowalski muttered. "I'm not going to take this lying down! Daddy'll take care of that cocksucker!" A sick grin began to spread across his face. "DiNozzo will rue the day he tangled with the likes of me!" He outlined one sick fantasy after another, gleefully imagining the look on DiNozzo's face as his life was ruined by calamity after calamity.

Once again, he didn't see the expression on the other's face.

Soon, his fantasies took off in a darker direction.

"Ruining his life isn't enough!" Kowalski realized. "No, I'll get him kidnapped and watch as he's gangraped three ways from Sunday. I'll have him lowered into hot oil! No, no, I'm going to watch as he's burned at the stake! But first things first. I'm going to leak to the press that those envelopes were delivered to him! Yes, everyone will know that Wussy McGeek was taken because of-"

He never got to finish.

Everything went black thanks to a bullet in the back of his head.


	35. Chapter 35

"You did WHAT!?"

I couldn't believe my ears.

I rubbed my throbbing left temple with my free hand as I tried desperately to think. Here I was, relaxing with my favorite bottle of wine with my feet resting on my desk, leaning back into my chair, when I got that asinine phone call.

Couldn't my minions see I was trying to enjoy the show?

Once again, I decided I wasn't being a gracious host.

Now that Tiny Tim was back in my room, I had to make sure he wasn't bored. So I made sure he got to watch the videotape of his latest session.

I had to admit, I enjoy seeing him squirm.

He was clearly being tormented by the images on screen.

Lord knows I could use some _entertainment _nowadays. My back was still aching from all that labor of disposing of the bodies and getting rid of the damning truck and equipment I needed to get rid of aforementioned bodies. I was also busy making plans to acquire the Third Chosen.

My minion knew enough about Annette Fairchild's movements and habits.

He would be ready to make his move any moment now.

I felt like everything was running like clockwork once more. Until I got the horrid news that Jordan Kowalski was dead.

Don't get me wrong.

It's not like I give a _shit_ about the little pissant.

Unfortunately, Jordan Kowalski was the son of a highly prominent senator who definitely enjoyed making the front pages. Even worse, Senator Kowalski was an extremely wealthy millionaire with major connections.

That blowhard wouldn't rest until he found out who murdered his precious little "Jordie". I could understand why Jordan had to die.

As he was blaspheming my Lord God.

But his death would attract far too much attention.

What was done was done, however and it wasn't like I could go back in time. Damage control was paramount. If only this happened before I kidnapped Tiny Tim. I would gladly frame Tiny Tim for Kowalski's murder and see him rot in prison where he belonged. I couldn't help smirking at the thought.

Tiny Tim would be seen as fresh meat.

And I could certainly bribe people to_ treat_ him as he deserves.

I definitely have more than enough money for that. Unfortunately, life didn't work that way and I had to make sure my minion wasn't caught. The only good thing is that Kowalski wasn't shot in his apartment or my minion's home.

"All right." I said finally. "Here is what I want you to do..."

After I outlined my instructions, I hung up.

My frown deepened. My good mood was ruined and I couldn't even enjoy Tiny Tim's torment anymore. In fact, he was starting to annoy me.

So ungrateful.

Here I am, providing him with entertainment and he couldn't even appreciate it. Besides, Christmas was approaching and I gave him the most precious gift of all that didn't come with a price tag: he finally lost his virginity.

Lord knows I'd heard the rumors about Tiny Tim's virginity for years.

That's what I get for trying to be a nice guy.

Scowling, I finished off my wine and donned some hospital scrubs and medical gloves. As usual, Tiny Tim was the reason for my bad mood and he needed to be punished. After I retrieved the necessary equipment, I whistled the Andy Griffith theme song as I headed for Tiny Tim's room.

* * *

"What!?"

Cornelius couldn't believe his ears.

He was in a fairly good mood despite his estranged daughter's refusal to cooperate. Cornelius scowled. Amanda should've been aborted from the moment she was conceived.

If it wasn't for Isabelle's interfering aunt, Amanda would've come scurrying home with her tail between her legs.

He already had a proper husband for her.

Someone who could be counted to keep her in line.

But Norma Grey Devereaux had to stick her nose where it didn't belong. She allowed Amanda to move in with her, covered her college expenses AND willed her entire estate to his bitch of a daughter to boot.

At least his other daughter knew that she had to honor and obey.

She agreed to accompany the family to tonight's function.

Isabelle was in her private quarters, getting ready in some designer duds that would no doubt set him back thousands of dollars. Cornelius shook his head. While he was a millionaire, he didn't believe in wasting money. Isabelle accused him of being cheap.

But he didn't see the point in spending thousands of dollars on clothes that would go out of fashion in five minutes.

The sole exception to this philosophy was Kowalski Manor.

As he believed it was only proper to demonstrate his success and superior status for the_ little people_. Anyway, Cornelius was putting on his favorite tuxedo when his private secretary told him devastating news:

His son was missing.

His precious little Jordie was gone and no one could find him.

"What happened?" Cornelius demanded.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as his secretary, Everett Mason, admitted that Jordan got into an alteraction with Senior Agent Anthony DiNozzo Jr. Jordan was last seen storming away from NCIS after a private little _chat_ with Gibbs.

Cornelius clutched his phone so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

He didn't register the pain.

Instead, he issued instructions to his secretary before hanging up. He knew DiNozzo had something to do with his Jordie's disappearance. Many witnesses were there during the one-sided beating and DiNozzo threatened to kill his precious son before Gibbs carried him off.

Well, that arrogant little shit wasn't going to get away with it.

DiNozzo was going to pay and then some.

Cornelius dialed another minion and issued some instructions. While it would've been nice to get some positive press, the function could wait.

His son was missing.

And there was a certain senior agent to punish.

* * *

Annette Fairchild wanted to leap for joy when her shift ended several hours later.

She gave Lola Martin a grateful look as she undid her apron.

Lola was her best friend and roommate. Both of them worked at the same coffee shop. Walter Haines was the type to make you work double or triple shifts if your replacement didn't show up.

Annette kept her expression neutral as she clocked out.

Haines could be petty if his underlings showed a single iota of happiness.

Annette happily exited the coffee shop after donning her coat, scarf and gloves and checked her watch. It was nearly midnight. She hurried as fast as she could to the parking lot. Unfortunately, the parking lot was located_ behind_ the coffee shop.

Annette was a paranoid type.

She got spooked easily and firmly believed in the supernatural.

Her overactive imagination always gave her fits and she blamed her tendencies on being a writer. She always pictured horrific scenarios everytime she had to venture out at night.

She reached into her pocket and felt the reassuring weight of her pepper spray. Lola always teased her for being paranoid but Annette couldn't help herself.

Better safe than sorry was her motto.

Annette was passing a nearby alleyway when she was suddenly grabbed.

She could smell the rotting, rancid breath of her captor as she was dragged into the shadows. She tried to grab her pepper spray, but her abductor quickly placed a handkerchief over her nose and mouth.

She knew she was smelling chloroform.

Annette struggled and kicked.

She tried not to inhale the chloroform. She held her breath. But her captor anticipated her actions and gave her a sharp blow to the back of her knee.  
Annette inhaled in protest. Her mind began to swim alongside her vision.

Her struggles got weaker and her movements decreased in speed.

Until everything went black.

* * *

He smirked.

It was all too easy.

Quickly, he lifted her pant leg to make sure there was no bruise. His master made it clear the Fairchild bitch was to be taken alive and unharmed. Fortunately, the blow to the back of her knee didn't cause any damage.

He rolled down her pant leg and looked around.

No one was around.

He'd carefully cased Wilcox's Coffee Shop before he made his move. The owner was too cheap to install surveillance cameras. He laid her on the ground and carefully secured her wrists and ankles with duct tape in case she woke up.

Then he lifted her in a fireman's carry and headed for his car.

He didn't relax until he was blocks away from the coffee shop.

He stopped at an abandoned parking lot and quickly informed the master's second lieutenant that Fairchild was finally in his custody. He hung up and drove away, his mind racing.

Hopefully by now, he'd proved himself.

He was getting sick and tired of tailing useless bitches.

Then he stopped himself. His thoughts were quickly approaching blasphemous territory and he could easily court divine punishment if he wasn't too careful. It was explained that the reach of their Lord God extended in all directions.

Better safe than sorry, he mused.

He would gladly accept any assignment, now matter how menial, without question. It was all in the name of serving their Lord God, after all.

He glanced at his watch.

He took back roads as he put on the speed.

He was on a timetable and he couldn't afford to get pulled over for speeding, much less arrive late.

As he was in no mood to court his master's wrath.

* * *

"Hmph." Sam muttered. "No wonder she took the job."

Callen couldn't help but agree.

Both agents, alongside Fornell and Sacks, were standing inside Kylie Adams' tiny studio apartment. While NCIS wasn't exactly at the top of the totem pole in the ARMFED food chain, Adams should've earned more than enough to afford a better apartment.

Unfortunately for her, she had a gambling addiction.

As well as a tendency to buy things well beyond her means.

Because she was stupid enough to get on the bad side of a local mob boss, Callen wasn't surprised that she took the job for a hundred grand to rig the CCTV cameras. But something didn't sit right with Callen.

While Kylie was a computer expert, she wasn't _that_ good.

Most likely, she had help.

Callen continued to scan the area. There really wasn't much to her apartment. There was a tiny couch, TV and stand serving as the living room. There was a heating pad, small fridge, equally small table and chair serving as the kitchen.

The bathroom was little more than a closet.

Callen couldn't see how there was enough room for a sink, shower stall and toilet.

Her bedroom was equally pathetic.

As she only had enough room for an Army cot and a crate box serving as a makeshift dresser of sorts.

But the apartment felt even more claustrophobic as she had piles of clothes and other accoutrement spread all over the apartment. Everywhere the eye could see, he could make out a huge collection of tourquoise jewelry.

"All right." Callen clapped his hands. "Let's get to work."

The four man crew had their hands full trying to find anything of note.

It was Sam who managed to find Kylie's diary. It was buried underneath a large pile of sweaters. After he took some pictures, he made sure his gloves were on as he quickly perused the last entry. His eyebrow rose.

"Uh, G, I got something." He called.

"What is it?" Callen asked as he glanced over Sam's shoulder.

"Looks like our girl wasn't working alone." Sam said.

"Oh?" Callen asked.

"Miss Adams wasn't the only NCIS employee with a gambling problem." Sam said. "In fact, they were friends and both of them got on the wrong side of the same mob boss. She was trying to skip town after she got her payment."

"Who was her accomplice?" Callen asked.

"Dirk Collins." Sam said grimly.

* * *

Dirk couldn't take it anymore.

He knew it was just a matter of time before he was found out.

Judging from what he overheard earlier, Fornell and his cronies were going to search Kylie Adams' apartment. Dirk wasn't going to take any chances. He had to get the hell out of Dodge before they learned Kylie and he were friends.

They never should've taken that job.

If their unknown benefactors weren't going to kill them, Alberto Coretti definitely would.

As he was the last person you should get on the bad side on.

And both of them were stupid enough to do just that.

Dirk raced home as soon as Gibbs dismissed the team for the day. Dirk wasn't stupid. He knew that DiNozzo was suspicious of him. Fortunately, there was something that was preoccupying the annoying senior agent which kept him from examining Dirk's activities too closely today.

But he knew his luck wouldn't last for long.

He had to get out of town before he was discovered.

Dirk quickly transferred the money he earned to an overseas account. He packed his things and made sure he had his wallet and passport. He raced throughout his tiny apartment, just to make sure he didn't forget anything.

He was making one last one through when he heard a strange cackle.

"Naughty, naughty, Dirky-poo!" An insane voice rang out in a sing song fashion. "You're not going anywhere!"

Was that a hyena? was his last thought before everything went black.


	36. Chapter 36

AN: Happy New Years, everbody!

To earthdragon: My sincere apologies for confusing you. Sometimes, plot bunnies get in the way and before you know it, your story runs away from you! I'll do my best to provide at least some clarification in this chapter. Rest assured, Tim McGee has not been forgotten.

To my other readers, my sincere apologies for any confusion you might have as well. In the future, I'll try to be clearer in what is going on! -_-;;

Gibbs glanced down at the empty bottle in confusion.

He didn't remember finishing it.

Normally, he wasn't one to risk getting drunk as a skunk, especially when there was a case to worry about. But he couldn't help feeling it was justified, judging from the past several weeks of hell he had to contend with.

It certainly didn't help that Dirkwad didn't show up for work.

At first, Gibbs was angry.

But judging from what Fornell told him, Dirkwad had been kidnapped. His apartment was in disarray and there was a pile of blood on the floor. Indicating a head wound of some kind after Dirkwad collapsed.

This didn't make any sense.

Who would kidnap Dirkwad? And why?

His gaze slid towards the ceiling of his basement. Ethan Schmidt was passed out on the couch. Schmidt had exhausted himself in his zeal to get to Gibbs before he could be stopped.

Or worse.

And he acted like a major weight had been lifted off his shoulders after he relayed his story.

His story.

Gibbs scowled as he looked around for another bottle of bourbon.

Right then and there, he wanted nothing more than to consume alcohol until he passed out. He knew it certainly wouldn't help McGee if he lost control over his faculties, but Gibbs couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

He was too busy reeling from what he'd learned.

If his "gut" hadn't been acting up, Gibbs wouldn't have believed Schmidt.

How could he?

The man brought some proof, true.

But everything he was claiming sounded like an overly ripe spy movie or some Tom Clancy novel. If Gibbs didn't know any better, Schmidt sounded like he was pitching an idea for a war movie for some movie studio.

FLASHBACK

_"I know this is going to sound like a plot for some war movie or Tom Clancy novel." Schmidt began, glaring into the depths of his bourbon. "But you have to believe me, Gibbs. This really happened."_

_"Go on." Gibbs felt his heart racing._

_At last, he thought. At last, he was going to get some answers. Without realizing it, he was leaning forward in anticipation._

_"Have you ever heard of Henry Miller?" Schmidt asked._

_"Henry Miller?" Gibbs blinked at this seeming non sequitor._

_Henry Miller was a hero during the Vietnam War. He came from a proud naval family and he made millions in the oil industry. He earned several medals for valor and he was formally discharged from the Navy with full honors._

_"Yeah." Gibbs said. "He's not only a hero from the Vietnam War, he's made millions once he discovered some untapped oil fields in Texas and Oklahoma. But what does he have to do with McGee?"_

_"Everything." Schmidt let out a bitter chuckle as he opened one of the manila folders he'd brought with him. The first thing Gibbs could see was a large photograph of a handsome looking man in his sixties. He wore a formal, designer tuxedo and he had a Cuban cigar clutched in his right hand. What really got to Gibbs was his chilling, dark-green eyes. They were so dark, one could mistake them for black._

_While the man's smile and expression was easygoing, his eyes were not._

_His eyes were cold._

_Empty._

_Entirely devoid of any human warmth, emotion and sentiment._

_Feeling a sudden chill, Gibbs rubbed at his arms._

_Gibbs then shifted his gaze to another photograph, which was buried underneath Miller's picture. Feeling his gut starting to churn, Gibbs pushed Miller's portrait aside and his eyes widened in disbelief._

_He couldn't believe what he was seeing._

_Miller was standing next to someone who was _very_ familiar._

_Both of them were dressed in crisp naval whites, posing for a picture at some fancy-schmancy naval function. They were smiling and they had their arms around each other._

_"Admiral McGee?" Gibbs couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice._

_"They've been best friends since childhood." Schmidt said._

_As Gibbs continued to stare at the picture, a suspicion began to form._

_"Was this bastard the one who kidnapped Tim?" Gibbs demanded._

_"Yes." Schmidt said._

_A million questions began forming in Gibbs' mind. If this man was Admiral McGee's best friend, why kidnap the man's son? Why hurt Tim? What was the point of kidnapping him in the first place. Gibbs knew he was missing several pieces of the puzzle. And he had a bad feeling he wouldn't like it when all of the pieces finally did slide into place._

_"Why?" Gibbs asked._

_Schmidt sighed, downed his bourbon in one gulp and poured himself some more. "You have to understand Gibbs, those two were closer than brothers. Both of them come from proud naval families." Schmidt let out a derisive snort. "John thought he was so discreet when he complained. But he never bothered to make sure that no one was around to eavesdrop."_

_"What did he say?" Gibbs asked._

_"He was complaining about Tim." Schmidt admitted._

_Gibbs pursed his lips grimly. His mind flashed back when he first met the man aboard the Borealis. Even while Gibbs and Tim were interviewing the man, Admiral McGee had no qualms bashing his own son. Even going so far as to say that he wasn't even a real man._

_"Even at a young age, it was obvious that Tim wasn't necessarily destined for the Navy." Schmidt went on. "He was never athletic and his gifts were more intellectually inclined in nature. It certainly didn't help that the poor boy gets seasick. For someone like John, having a son like Tim was nothing but a source of embarrassment." Schmidt shook his head. "John liked to keep a picture of his nephew on his desk. Unlike Tim, Aaron managed to graduate from Annapolis. With complete strangers, he would claim that Aaron was his son whenever they commented on the picture."_

_Gibbs couldn't believe his ears._

_"John never stopped complaining about Tim or his wife, Noelle." Schmidt said. "Finally, Miller decided to do something about it. He was the type who solved problems in his own_...unique_ way."_

_Unique way?_

_Gibbs didn't like the implications._

_"Unfortunately, John was a little too effective at getting rid of most of the evidence." Schmidt ran a hand through his hair. "But I did manage to get bits and pieces over the years. I even talked to a few of the scientists involved before the government made them disappear."_

_"Scientists?" Gibbs asked._

_"Look at this picture." Schmidt reached into another folder and pulled out a photograph. "Then compare it to Miller's."_

_Gibbs complied._

_He had to do a double take._

_If he didn't know any better, he would swear Miller and the man in the photo he clutched were twins. Both of them had the same silver hair, military bearing and cold, empty eyes._

_But that shouldn't be possible._

_This picture was obviously taken during World War II._

_What was even scarier, was the fact that the man was wearing a Nazi uniform. There was a swastika armband around his upper arm and he was posing stiffly underneath a large swastika flag._

_"Who is he?" Gibbs asked._

_"This man is Gustav Mueller." Schmidt said. "He was one of the war criminals who was supposed to go on trial at Nuremberg. Unfortunately, he was extremely wealthy and he managed to bribe his way to America. He was never tried for his crimes. Instead, the government allowed him to become a citizen and he changed his last name to Miller."_

_"So Miller's father was a Nazi?" Gibbs demanded._

_"Yes." Schmidt said._

_"How did you find out?" Gibbs asked._

_"It wasn't easy." Schmidt said. "But I have an old naval buddy who works in the Justice department. And even though I can't prove it, I have a feeling that Mueller raised his son to believe in the Nazi ideology."_

_"What makes you say that?" Gibbs asked._

_"Here." Schmidt handed him another folder._

_There was nothing on the folder, save for the initials P.A._

_"Who is P.A.?" Gibbs asked._

_"Not who, what." Schmidt corrected. "It stands for Project Aryan."_

_"Miller tried to restart the Nazi movement in America?" Gibbs hissed._

_"Yes." Schmidt said. "Like I said, Miller most likely thought he was doing John a favor. See for yourself. The plan called for kidnapping children, toughening them up via beatings and torture and remolding their minds once they were sufficiently broken. Tim was supposed to be the guinea pig. This way, John could get the tough as nails naval son that he always wanted. But Tim was rescued before Miller could continue with the experiment."_

_"Oh, God." Gibbs wanted to throw up._

_"Unfortunately, there were some senators who believed in the program." Schmidt said. "I have circumstantial evidence that indicates they provided Miller with funding for his project. They wouldn't have minded such tough weapons that they could launch against our country's enemies."_

_"Why didn't they continue the project?" Gibbs asked._

_"There were too many people nosing around and asking questions." Schmidt said. "I was one of them. Instead, the government decided it was in their best interests to cover everything up and destroy the evidence. I myself was discredited and sent to No Man's Land so that no one would believe my claims."_

_"And Admiral McGee?" Gibbs asked._

_"Remember, I said that John got rid of evidence." Schmidt said. "Miller's been his best friend for years. He refused to believe me and he insisted that his son was nothing but a compulsive liar."_

_"Tim can't even lie to save his own ass!" Gibbs protested._

_"You know that and I know that." Schmidt said. "But John wouldn't hear of it. He insisted that his friend would never do such a thing. So he gladly helped the government in the cover-up."_

_"What aren't you telling me?" Gibbs had a feeling there was more to the story._

_"Miller didn't act alone." Schmidt admitted. He pulled out another folder and gave it to Gibbs. Gibbs opened the folder and felt a chill as he stared at the photograph of an old man with white hair and a matching beard. There was a manic expression on his face and an insane glint in his dark blue eyes._

_"Who is this?" Gibbs asked._

_"His name is Hans Schueller." Schmidt said. "His father, Hans Sr, was one of Hitler's chief scientists. Junior inherited his father's brilliance, as well as his questionable grip on reality."_

_"How did Hans Sr get to the United States?" Gibbs asked._

_"He managed to elude capture." Schmidt said. "And he married some American woman so he could legally stay in the United States."_

_"Whatever happened to Hans Jr?" Gibbs asked._

_"I don't know." Schmidt sighed. "But I have a feeling the bastard is still alive. The government went to great lengths in getting rid of any evidence that he even exists."_

_"Damn." Gibbs muttered._

_"We need to act quickly, Gibbs." Schmidt said. "Miller is the type who won't let anyone or anything threaten his wealth, freedom and position. He is not above permanently silencing people so they don't remain a threat to him. As for Schueller, he has no morals and he has no qualms killing or experimenting on people. It's just like Michael Caine's Alfred in 'The Dark Knight' when he spoke of the Joker: 'He can t be bought, bullied or negotiated with. Some people just want to see the world burn'."_


End file.
